


What I Need Most

by MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barista Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant through 11 X 23, Canonical Character Death, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mild Dom/sub undertones, NOT a MCD, POV Dean Winchester, Possessive Castiel (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Sharing an apartment, Slow Burn, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, The Author Abuses Italics, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, then canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “I don’t see what makes them, ‘chick flicks’ Dean.  Approximately half the cast are males.”“They’re romances Cas.  Highly exaggerated and unrealistic love stories.  Here,” he says, scrolling through the channel guide and making a new selection, “Star Wars.  There’s a movie worth watching.”“You’ve made me watch the entire series before,” Cas points out with a frown.Dean grins.  “No such thing as too much Leia, Cas,” he says with a wink.“You do realize that the story of Leia and Han Solo could quite accurately be described as a ‘highly exaggerated and unrealistic love story,’ right?”“But it’s a manly love story, Cas,” Dean defends with a glare, “and there’s nothing highly exaggerated about Han Solo.  He’s a badass!”“Wouldn’t a ‘manly’ love story involve a relationship between two men?” Cas asks, seemingly innocent.  “I did see a movie like that once, although I’m not certain..”“Dinner!” Dean, splutters, choking on his beer. “How about we make some dinner?”What if Mary wasn't what Dean "needed most?"  After helping God reconcile with his sister, Dean finds himself in a world with no monsters, no magic, and no way home.  At least his best friend is here with him..





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> ***NOW COMPLETE***
> 
> This is a completed work that will update every Friday. The weekly updates are to give me time to edit and hopefully spare you my typos and more egregious grammatical errors.  
> *shudders at the number of its/it's and there/their/they're errors found in the first chapter alone*
> 
> Kudos and comments are lifeblood! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here:  <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/a-mandala-rose>

__

 

_“Dean, you gave me what I needed most.  I want to do the same for you.”_

***

The earth itself seeming to jolt beneath his feet, Dean stumbles.  When he rights himself, Amara and Chuck are gone, as are the fountain and the garden.  Dean looks around, dazed, at a sunlit street with green-leaved trees casting shade on a brick sidewalk.  He doesn’t have time to notice much else before he hears a familiar voice.

“Dean!”  Barely having time to note the distinct relief in Castiel’s voice, Dean stumbles backward as 6 feet of solid angel barrels into him in a bone crushing hug.  Dean’s shocked for a moment, until he recalls that the last time Cas saw him, he was a ticking soul-bomb, headed to take out Amara and save the goddamn world (again), which was supposed to be a one-way trip.  The realization that he’s _not_ going to die, thanks to Chuck’s healing after Amara had healed her brother, hits him with sudden force and he feels relieved tears flood his eyes as he tightens his arms around his best friend.

Dean holds on maybe a moment or two longer than is socially acceptable for two dudes engaged in a totally platonic bro-hug, but fuck it, he almost died ( _again),_ and Cas isn’t letting go either.  Besides, Dean has long ago given up any hope that the angel will ever fully grasp human societal norms, especially when it comes to things like personal space:  _Dean’s_ personal space, in particular.  He’s also long ago given up pretending that he minds when Cas gets too close, but that’s something no one needs to know but him.  Eventually though, the two friends part and Dean looks at Cas in confusion.

“Cas?  What are you doing here?” Then, looking around, “And where the fuck is _here?”_ Turning around to take in their surroundings, Dean recognizes the quiet city street notices they’re standing in front of a large concrete sign bearing the words, “Welcome to Downtown Lawrence.”  Looking back at Cas, he experiences another jolt of surprise. 

“And what’s up with our clothes?” he asks, gesturing at the angel.  In place of his usual blue suit and oversized trench coat combo, Cas is dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt.  Looking down at himself, Dean realizes his blue jacket and plaid button-up have been replaced by a forest green Henley and jeans that are way nicer than anything the hunter currently owns.

“In a minute,” Cas says dismissively, fixing Dean with that intense stare of his.  “Dean, what are _you_ doing here?  What happened with Amara?  I mean,” he gestures to the sunlit town surrounding them, “it looks like everything is back to normal, but then why are you..”  Cas trails off, clearly not wanting to end that sentence with the word, “alive.”

Dean rehashes Amara and Chuck’s reconciliation for Cas, who looks around, tilting his head and squinting in confusion.  Dean grins in spite of himself.  He thought he’d never see that look again.

“So, Amara thought that ‘what you need most..’”

“Is in Lawrence?” Dean finishes.  “Apparently, yeah.  And requires a wardrobe change,” he adds, looking down at his clothes.  _They’re not bad though_ , he thinks to himself.

“And Chuck,” Cas starts, then pauses.

“Fucked off again to who-knows-where, completely abandoning Earth and all of its inhabitants?  Yep,” Dean answers Cas’ unasked question, ending his last word with an exaggerated pop.  “Father-of-the-goddamn-year, that guy,” he adds bitterly. 

Dean’s secretly glad that Cas never got the chance for the one-on-one time with his Dad that Dean knows he’s been hoping for.  Dean’s had the experience of his father basically telling him to his face that he’s taking off because there are things out there that matter more to him than Dean.  He’s also now had the same experience with his Creator.  No one should have to go through even one of those, let alone both, and especially not when they’re one and the same.

Cas only nods, looking off into the distance.  He does that when he’s trying to pull off that whole, “angels-don’t-experience-human-emotions,” bullshit, Dean knows.  After 7 years of knowing the guy, Dean doesn’t buy it for a minute, but he let’s Cas have his illusion anyway.  After all, no one understands avoidance like Dean Winchester.

“Let me call Sam to come pick us up.  You know, if Amara was trying to be helpful, she could have at least dropped us at the bunker.” 

“Dean,” Cas starts as Dean reaches into his pocket and instead of pulling out his standard burner phone as expected, finds an almost-new iPhone. 

“Huh,” he says, “guess ‘Auntie Amara’ thought my phone needed an upgrade too.”  Shrugging, he finds Sam’s number in the phone’s contacts.

“Dean, wait,” Cas says again, sounding annoyed this time, but Dean holds up a hand.  He’s already hit the call button.

“Hey Dean!” answers Sam on the third ring. 

 _Hey Dean?_   Dean’s not sure exactly what kind of greeting he was expecting from the brother who’s supposed to think him dead, but it’s sure as hell not, _Hey Dean._ Shooting Cas a bewildered look, he puts the phone on speaker.

“I’ve got Cas here and we’re in Lawrence.  Where are you?”

“Um, okay, well that makes sense since you guys _live_ in Lawrence,” Sam says in his best _my-brother’s-an-idiot_ voice, “and I’m in Overland Park.. where _I_ live.”  Suddenly dropping the _Dean-must-have-hit-his-head_ tone, Sam continues, “Okay, well technically I’m on my way to Kansas City, because Jess wants cannoli for tonight’s desert and apparently there’s this bakery in the city that makes _the best_ cannoli.”

Dean blinks.  Sam lives in Overland Park?  With Jess? 

In typical Sam-style, his little brother barrels on, oblivious to Dean’s silence. 

 _At least that’s normal,_ Dean thinks with an eye roll.

“Wait, you guys are still coming to dinner tonight, right?  Jess is making enough lasagna to feed an army and you know Mom and Dad’ll be _pissed_ if you cancel with no notice.”

Alarmed, Dean looks at Cas and mouths, _Mom and Dad?  Jess?_

Eyes wide, Cas just gives him a helpless shrug. 

“No, no Sammy.. I mean, yeah, of course we’re still coming.  I just wanted to call and see if there’s anything you need me to bring tonight.  That’s all,” Dean covers.

“Oh, good.  Um, no, I think we have everything we need.  Just bring yourselves and we’ll see you at 6.”

“Will do, Sam.  We’ll see you tonight then,” Dean disconnects the call with a sigh and looks at Cas.

“Well, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.  Not _our_ Kansas at least.”

“You think Amara sent us to an alternate reality, the way Balthazar did when he was trying to hide you and Sam from Raphael,” Castiel surmises.

“Looks like,” Dean agrees.  “That, or something’s really wrong with Sam.  He didn’t use any of our code words though, so if something is wrong, he doesn’t know it.  Besides, the alternate universe theory would explain the new duds.”

Dean looks down at his and Cas’ clothing again and startles, “Shit Cas, we’re wearing rings!”

At Cas’ confused look, he elaborates, holding up his left hand, “Wedding rings.  The Dean and Cas in this world must have wives.  Sam and I had wives when we were stuck in the lives of those douchey actors.”

Cas sighs, “That makes sense.”

At Dean’s slightly quizzical look, he clarifies, “Not the wives part.  That’s actually rather alarming.  I was trying to tell you before, but you were too focused on calling Sam,” he pauses to shoot Dean an annoyed look, “I can’t access any of my angelic powers, nor can I feel my grace.  It appears that this world’s Castiel is human.”

Human?  Cas is human? 

Dean stares a moment before asking dumbly, “So what should we do now?”

Cas glances at the watch this world’s Castiel apparently wears on his right wrist, “We have approximately 6 hours until we need to be at Sam’s house for dinner.  I suggest we head to the library.”

Dean’s eyes widen in shock and Cas gives him a confused look before adding, “If we learn more about this world, we might be able to figure out a way home.”

Dean shakes his head, “Yeah, no, I get _that.”_  He raises his eyebrows, “You’re actually planning to go to this dinner?  Sunday dinner.. with the _Winchesters_?”

“Of course, Dean.  We’re currently living the lives of this world’s Castiel and Dean, who’ve been displaced through no fault of their own.  The least we can do is to try not to disrupt their lives any more than necessary until we can figure out how to get back to our world.”  He pauses.

“That also means that at some point in the next several hours we’ll need to figure out who this Dean and Castiel are, where exactly Sam and Jess live in Overland Park, and,” blanching slightly, “who our wives are.”

Dean nods, “And my car.  We need to find out where she is.”  At Cas’ eye roll he adds, “unless you plan to _walk_ to Overland Park.”

***

Three hours later finds them sitting behind public computers at the Lawrence Public Library.

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, “you said the there were no supernatural beings in the world you and Sam visited previously, correct?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees softly.

“That appears to be the case with this world too.  I can’t find anything even resembling accurate or reliable creature lore and I’ve done searches of local and national news sites for things that would indicate a case.  There’s nothing.  No mysterious disappearances or unexplained deaths.  Nothing that would indicate a supernatural presence at work.”

“I know,” Dean whispers back, “I’ve tried looking up previous cases Sam and I’ve worked, and I can’t find any evidence that they ever happened at all.  And look at this..”

He turns his computer monitor toward Castiel.  Smiling up at them from the screen is Sheriff Jody Mills, pictured with her _teenage_ son, along with a heartwarming article all about how he wants to go into law enforcement to be more like his mom, who he says is his hero. 

Cas smiles softly at the image.  Dean gets lost in that smile for a moment before he comes to a sudden realization.

“Cas,” he says excitedly, “If there’s no supernatural here and Jody’s kid, and Jess, and Mom and Dad are all still alive, then that means..”

Dean turns his monitor back around and opens a new search window.  He starts Googling the hunter friends and family they’ve lost over the years.  What he finds causes a mysterious lump to lodge itself in his throat and his eyes to mist over.

An old picture of Joanna Beth Harvelle, accomplished high school athlete, accepting a volleyball scholarship to George Washington University.  Pictured with Jo are her proud parents, Bill and Ellen Harvelle.

An article on Harvard College’s, “Student Life,” webpage about Kevin Tran, slated to graduate with honors from the pre-med pogram, a year early, before starting at Harvard Medical School in the fall.

A current listing for the “Singer Auto Self-Service Salvage Yard,” in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Dean can’t find mention of a “Charlie Bradbury” anywhere on the web, which he thinks in and of itself is a pretty good indication that his friend is alive and well, but a Google Image search for “Moondor” uncovers a grainy photograph of a petite woman with fiery red hair, arm raised in defiance as she leads her forces to battle.

He looks at Cas with shining eyes, “They’re all alive Cas.  Everyone.  This is a world where everyone lives.”

Cas smiles sadly at him.  “I’m glad Dean.  They deserve a world like that.  _You_ deserve a world like that.”

That brings Dean back to the reality of their situation and he frowns, “Yeah, but it’s not our world, is it?  We’ve got about 2 hours left before we have to head to Sam’s.  I guess we better try to learn more about this world’s Cas and Dean, lucky bastards that they are.”

Cas frowns, but doesn’t disagree.

A few short minutes later and Dean is left gaping once again.

At first, things seem to be looking up.  A Google search for “Dean Winchester,” lands on a website for “American Classics:  Classic Automotive Repairs and Restorations.”  A smiling Dean greets them on the “About our Staff” page.  Dean is pictured leaning up against a 1967 Chevy Impala ( _Thank God!)_ that the website reports is a family heirloom, passed down to him by his father after Dean restored the car from the ground up following an accident that had totaled the classic vehicle.

Dean is relieved to see that his name doesn’t bring up any social media pages.  Maybe he has more in common with _this_ Dean than he did that asshat, “Jensen,” from the other world he visited.

And then Dean clicks the arrow to show the next page of search results.  There, halfway down page two, is a wedding announcement from about five years ago:  a wedding announcement showcasing the marriage of _Dean and Castiel Winchester._  

Dean’s jaw drops open in shock.  He chances a glance at Cas sitting to his right and sees the same expression reflected back at him.

The announcement is brief, simply mentioning the grooms’ names, the location of the ceremony, and congratulations for the happy couple.  It’s accompanied by what must have been a candid shot from the wedding reception.  Dean’s head is dipped down and he’s laughing whole heartedly at something said by his new _husband,_ standing next to him.  Castiel is fully focused on his husband, eyes adoring, smile wide and genuine, features wrinkled in mirth.  

“They look so happy,” Dean murmurs, then flushes as he realizes he just said that _out loud._

“They do,” Cas agrees quietly, before adding, “What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”  Dean asks gruffly, trying to act like this new development isn’t rocking him to his goddamn core.  “We stick to the plan.  Try to find out what God’s bitch sister thinks I _need_ in this world and hope that gives us some kind of lead on how to get home.. and try not to mess up _their_ lives too much in the process,” he ends, gesturing at the picture on his computer screen.

“Do you really think we can pretend to be a married couple?” Cas asks.  “Convincingly enough to deceive their closest friends and family?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Dean replies flatly.  “And look at it this way, at least we don’t have to convince our _wives_ that their husbands haven’t been replaced by pod people.”

Cas looks immeasurably relieved at that realization.  “This is true.”

“We can do this,” Dean says with more confidence than he feels, but then, not being able to be “convincingly” into Cas isn’t exactly what he’s worried about here.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing his worries down for now.  “We have more research to do.” 

Over the next 30 minutes, they discover that Sam and Jess live in a nice, 3 bedroom house in the Kansas City suburb of Overland Park, where Jess is a nurse at the KU Medical Center.  Dean smiles when he finds Sam’s name on the webpage for a Kansas City law firm.  It turns out that Sammy actually finished school here and is a human rights lawyer who specializes in disability discrimination. 

Cas and Dean apparently do live in Lawrence, in an apartment above a local coffee shop that’s frequented by KU students, The Busy Bean.  Dean rolls his eyes at the cutesy name, but Cas grins at their logo (an illustrated coffee bean drawn to look like a bumblebee perching on the rim of a coffee cup), _of course._

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Cas climb out of an Uber and look up at the windows of what is apparently _their_ apartment, staring down at them from above the sign for _The Busy Bean_.  Cas nods to a discreet door next to the coffeeshop entrance and they step through, following the flight of stairs inside up to a locked door.  Fishing around in his coat pocket, Dean pulls out a set of keys and after a few false starts, finds the key that unlocks the apartment door. 

Dean lets out a low whistle as they step inside.  The apartment is small, but neat, and has a sophistication that speaks to a life far different from one spent sleeping in shabby motel rooms and an underground bunker.  He steps onto rich, dark hardwood floors that carry through the apartment, contrasting nicely with the exposed brick of the back wall.  Cas follows Dean through the front door into the living room, although “great room,” is probably more appropriate, since the living and dining area appear to be one open space that lead directly into the small, open kitchen on the left. 

Dean walks over to the small, but efficiently arranged kitchen, skimming his hand over the granite surface of the island that provides most of the kitchen’s workspace and divides it from the apartment’s living area.  He takes in the dark walnut cabinets and the flecks of brown and red in the granite countertops that pull in the brick tones from across the room.

Cas smiles at the gas fireplace that takes up most of one wall, but Dean thinks the thing looks pretentious.  Joining Cas, he gestures down a short hallway to the right of the maybe-pretentious fireplace.  They follow the hall and find two doors on the left and one directly in front of them, at the hall’s end.  Cas opens the first door to a small bathroom with a tub/shower combo in neutral shades.  Behind the second they find a bedroom that’s currently furnished as an office, painted in a soothing nautical blue-gray.  That must make the door at the end of the hallway the master.

Cas and Dean step into the master bedroom, looking around at a large, airy room painted a light, mossy green.  A king-size bed takes up most of one wall, flanked on either side by matching night stands.  Cas opens a door next to the bed to reveal an en-suite bathroom with an impressive tiled shower; the kind with multiple showerheads and a built-in bench that Dean is _not_ going to think up a laundry-list of inventive and completely inappropriate uses for. 

 _Lucky bastards indeed_. 

He’s suddenly not sure he likes this Dean very much.

A pile of check stubs on the dresser solves the mystery of Cas’ employment.  Their search at the library had turned up Cas’ name on the website for a small, local accounting firm.  Unfortunately, a note in bold yellow font at the bottom of the page announced the firm’s closing, effective two months ago.  They hadn’t been able to find any information on current career prospects and Cas hadn’t been amused at Dean’s suggestion that maybe he’d stayed home to be a hot trophy husband instead.  The oldest of the bi-weekly stubs on the dresser are a match for the accounting firm they’d seen online, but the top two are from The Busy Bean. 

“Hey, Cas, check it out.  Apparently, you’re an accountant-turned-barista,” Dean calls, tapping the small pile of pay stubs.  Cas joins Dean by the dresser and picks up the top stub, smiling delightedly.  Well, okay, he doesn’t “smile” so much as the corners of his lips tick up for just a second, but for Cas, that’s pretty damn delighted.

Dean pokes around the spacious, walk-in closet and although it’s missing the familiar sight of flannel, he does see a collection of band tees featuring Led Zepplin and AC/DC, amongst others, and he thinks that maybe he and this Dean have a few things in common after all.  Not to mention, this Dean spends his days restoring classic American cars and _that_ is definitely something Dean can get behind, which reminds him.  Walking over to the bedroom windows, he looks out to see an empty alleyway below.  Making his way back to the living room, he wanders over to the exposed brick wall, taking in the built-in bookshelves surrounding that goddamn fireplace on the way and noting Vonnegut and Kerouac there. 

_Not bad._

Glancing out the living room windows, Dean finds what he’s looking for. 

_Bingo._

Behind the apartment building is a small parking lot and there, in all her glory, is Dean’s pride and joy in any goddamn universe:  his 1967 Chevy Impala.

“Cas!” Dean calls back down the hallway where the angel (ex-angel?) is still exploring their, _the_ ( _get it together Winchester)_ , bedroom.  “It’s time to get this show on the road!”

***

Walking back down the exterior steps and exiting the building, Cas and Dean follow the short alleyway next to the coffeeshop that leads to the back parking lot.  As Dean reintroduces himself to his best girl, “Fuck, I missed you, Baby.  Don’t worry.  Daddy’s here,” Cas rolls his eyes and pulls a key fob out of his own pocket.  Looking around at the small smattering of parked cars (probably belonging to Busy Bean employees and patrons), he presses the lock button, lighting up when a fucking _powder blue_ Honda civic flashes its headlights at them.

Cas looks hopefully at Dean.

“No,” Dean responds flatly.

Cas’ hopeful look contorts into a glare. 

Dean doesn’t care.  There’s no fucking way he’s showing up to dinner with his brother in _that._   He doesn’t care how married this Dean Winchester is.  There is _no way_ Cas has him that whipped.

“Get in the Impala, Cas.”

With an eyeroll so hard, _Dean_ feels it, Cas pockets his keys and climbs into the passenger side of the Impala. 

Dean shakes his head at his other-world self as he slides behind Baby’s wheel.  Man restores classic cars for a living and his husband drives around in _that._   How can he stand the embarrassment? 

Cas is quiet on the ride to Sam and Jess’ apartment.  Dean takes a moment to admire his best friend in the setting sun.  The orange glow highlights the prominent angles and lines of Cas’ face, making the cut of his jaw look sharper and the bow of his chapped, pink lips even deeper than normal.  The untamed curls and waves of his hair look wreathed in flame and for a moment, Dean imagines this would be what a halo looked like, if angels really had them.  Either way, it gives the angel (man?) next to him an ethereal glow and the word, “beautiful,” sneaks its way into Dean’s consciousness before he can stop it.

Swallowing drily and needing to distract himself from his current train of thought, he frowns at the angel next to him, “Something on your mind?” 

“I was just thinking,” begins Cas, “that if I’m human in this world, it would follow that I also have human parents.”

Dean starts.  He hadn’t really given it any thought, but Cas is right.  This world’s Castiel must have a family, a _human_ family.  He wonders how the ex-angel feels about that.

“Do you wanna look them up?” he asks neutrally.

“No,” Cas replies immediately.  “I don’t think so.”

At Dean’s questioning glance, he continues, “If this body has belonged to this world’s Castiel since his birth, then it never belonged to Jimmy Novak.  In fact, it’s possible, likely even, that Jimmy doesn’t exist in this world at all.”  He pauses, then continues, quieter, “Nor, by extension, would Claire.”

Dean’s not sure what to say to that.  There’s a good chance Cas is right, but it’s not something either of them want confirmation of. 

The mood in the car is subdued for the rest of the drive to Overland Park.

***

Forty minutes later, Dean pulls into the driveway outside of Sam and Jess’ modestly-sized, but still upscale, suburban home.  It’s maybe a little smaller than one might expect for a fancy-pants lawyer, but law school is expensive, and Kansas isn’t exactly the top of the food-chain when it comes to lawyer salaries, Dean’s sure.  Besides, it’s a relief to see that Sam’s apparently still a pretty simple guy at heart in this world, even though he managed to get his fancy degree.

Stepping out of the car, Dean and Cas are quickly joined by Sam and a tall, athletically-built blonde woman that Dean vaguely recognizes as Jess.  He’d only met Jess that one time in their world, before he’d pulled Sam away from his fiancée and his life as a happy and successful college student to go looking for John Winchester.  He feels a pang of guilt as he takes in the happy couple.  Intellectually, he knows that Jessica’s death and the loss of Sam’s other life weren’t _actually_ his fault.  Azazel was coming for Sam no matter what, but Dean still can’t help but feel a little guilty that instead of spending Jess’ last days with her, Sam was off with him hunting monsters.

Sam pulls Dean into their standard, two-pats-on-the-back hug, then releases him to treat Cas to the same.  “Hey guys,” he greets with a smile that turns into a look of surprise, “you brought the Impala this time?”

Dean ignores Cas’ smug smirk next to him.  He turns to Jess instead, hoping desperately that he passes for someone who’s actually met her more than once in his life as he says cheerfully, “Hey there, Jess!  Looking beautiful, as always.”

Jess smiles and hugs Dean.  “Flattery’s not necessary Dean.  I’ll feed you anyways.”

“Sure,” Dean replies easily, “But flattery’ll get me seconds.  Gotta get those locked down when you’re competing with a sasquatch for food.”

Jess chuckles and squeezes Dean tighter before letting go, so he figures he must not be doing too badly so far.

“Jessica,” Cas greets, moving in to claim his own hug and actually ending with a kiss to her cheek, the smooth bastard.  Since when does Castiel, Angel of the Lord, give _cheek kisses_?

Dean’s curiosity is cut short as a breathtaking, cherry red Ford Mustang (a ’68 if Dean’s right, and he is), pulls onto Sam and Jess’ street.  Then the car pulls into the driveway behind Dean’s Impala and all other thought stops as the occupants climb out to join the small group in the driveway.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat and he feels briefly like he might collapse right here on the suburban sidewalk in front of Sam’s house, because climbing out of the passenger seat, less than three yards away from Dean, is Mary Winchester.

Dean stares.

“Hi, Mom.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This is my first time posting chapter-by-chapter, so I'm hoping it's interesting enough to keep you coming back for more!


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who wants some domestic Destiel fluff?
> 
> Dean and Cas start to settle into their roles as the other world's Dean and Castiel.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Mom ( _Jesus Christ,_ his _mom_ is here!) greets, standing on her tip toes to wrap her arms around Dean’s neck.  Dean stoops to accommodate her and pulls her in with his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck for a moment and inhaling.  He hasn’t smelled the soft, warm scent of his mother since he was 4-years-old and he’s nearly reduced to tears when he realizes she must still use the same rose-scented body lotion he remembers from his childhood. 

Pulling back, he offers her a tremulous smile, which she takes in with a concerned frown before placing a hand against his cheek.  “Are you okay, Baby?  You look a little pale.” 

“I’m fine, Mom.  Great even,” Dean starts before he feels a firm clap on his shoulder and a deep voice in his ear bellow, “Hey there, Son.” 

Dean turns to see the beaming face of his father, looking happier and more relaxed in this world than Dean can ever remember seeing the man in his own.  John Winchester has the same graying hair, rough stubble, and slightly aging features that Dean remembers, but they’re softened somehow.  Crows-feet and laugh lines replace more than a decade’s worth of deep, grief-bred furrows and frown lines.  His eyes hold a warm gleam instead of the steely glint of the man who spent his life hunting a yellow-eyed demon.  This John is warm, friendly, and open, none of which are terms Dean ever though he’d use to describe his father.  It’s both balm and wound as Dean wonders what it might have been like to be raised by _this_ John Winchester.

“Dad,” he greets, taking John’s offered hand and pulling the older man into a one-armed hug.  Dean forces himself to let go and tries not to stare too much at his mother (because _holy shit!_ Did he mention his _mom_ is here?), as John and Mary make their greetings to the rest of the family.  Still feeling a little light headed, Dean tries desperately to get his bearings.  He’s going to be expected to speak again at some point tonight, he’s fairly certain, and he needs to be able to act like it’s been only days since he’s last spoken to his parents, instead of years.  As the panic starts to rise and swell in Dean’s chest (because _fuck,_ he can’t _do_ this!) he suddenly feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder, solid and firm, and senses Castiel’s steadying presence beside him.  Dean turns his face toward his best friend and although he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the slight shine in Cas’ blue eyes, the small smile he gives Dean is as steady and reassuring as the hand at his shoulder.  Dean takes a moment to thank Amara, wherever the hell she’s fucked off to, for sending Cas here with him.  He’s not sure what she expects him to find here in this strange world of what might have been, but he’s beyond fucking relieved he doesn’t have to do it alone. 

Feeling suddenly grounded, but still a little giddy at the thought of spending an evening with his _parents_ , Dean takes a breath and tries his hand at conversation again.  Whistling, he looks from John to the Mustang and remarks, “she sure is one hell of beautiful lady, Dad.”  With a wink he adds, “And Mom’s not too bad either.” 

Mary rolls her eyes fondly as John chuckles, “Alright Dean, quit bragging.”

“Bragging,” Dean asks in confusion.  “Why would I be bragging?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn for an eyeroll, “We all know you restored the Mustang, Dean.  You can stop reminding us any year now.  Really, Cas, how do you live with him?”

Masking his surprise, Dean chuckles along with everyone else. 

 _Dean_ restored the Mustang? 

Suddenly, he can’t _wait_ to go to work tomorrow.

***

Seated comfortably next to Cas on Sam and Jess’ spacious leather sofa, Dean watches the newly-humanized angel take a cautious sip of his red wine.  Dean himself had fought down an initial twinge of panic when he’d seen Jess coming their way with the wine bottle (Fuck!  Did this Dean ride around in fucking practical, fuel efficient, midsize-goddamn-sedans _and_ drink _wine_?), and nearly sighed aloud in relief when he saw Sam following behind her with beers for John and Dean. 

Seeing Jess eyeing him and Cas quizzically, he raises an eyebrow at her in question, “Something wrong?”

“What’s up with you two?” she asks, brows furrowing in concern.  “You have a fight or something?”

“What? No, we didn’t ‘have a fight or something.’  Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugs, “Because you aren’t being your usual disgustingly affectionate selves.”

 _Shit._ Apparently _this_ Dean and Cas are big on the PDA.

Affecting a grin and resolutely ignoring the butterflies suddenly camping out in his stomach, Dean tosses an arm around Cas’ shoulders and hopes to hell the man catches on to what he’s doing.  “Hey there Lovemuffin,” he coos in a sickeningly sweet sing-song, “apparently we’re not being ‘affectionate’ enough for Sammy.  How about some sugar, Sugar?”  Dean makes exaggerated mock-kissing faces as he leans in toward Cas, who (thankfully), raises an eyebrow and fends Dean off by smushing a hand into his face.

“Okay,” laughs Sam, “message received.  You’re as gross as ever.”

“Like you two have room to talk on the grossness front,” Dean says, gesturing at where Jess is practically sitting on top of his brother.

Jess just smiles wickedly and wiggles herself further into Sam’s lap, feigning an attempt to get more comfortable.  Sam blushes, but doesn’t push her off and suddenly Dean’s hit with a pang of sadness for what can never be in their world.  This is the life Sam could have had.  The life he deserved to have.

Dean’s melancholy reflections are cut short a few minutes later by the high-pitched beep of the oven timer.  Jess leaps to her feet, sending the boys off to set the table, while she and Mary retreat to the kitchen to start bringing out the food.

“So get this,” Sam says once they’re all gathered around the large dining room table, using both hands to push his too-long hair behind his ears as he leans forward like an over-eager puppy and launches into a long story about some case his firm recently won. 

Dean smiles to himself.  It’s strangely comforting to see that his geeky little brother is still his geeky little brother in any universe.  Well, any universe except the one where they were douchebag actors, of course, and Sam was called Jared Padawan-whatever. 

“Dean.  Dean!”  Dean starts at his name since he hadn’t actually been _listening_ as Sam talked.  Hey, Dean’s still himself too, even in a different universe, and if he wasn’t willing to listen to Sam drone on about gods and monsters in his world, he sure as hell isn’t going to listen to him recount the finer points of anti-discrimination law here. 

“What was that, Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh, “Would it kill you to actually _pay attention_ , for once?” 

Cas, _his husband_ , Dean remembers with a start, shoots him a disapproving look, but Dean just grins.  Apparently, he and this world’s Dean do have something else in common.  He thinks he might be starting to like this Dean after all.

Schooling his features to a mock-solemn expression, Dean looks to Sam and says seriously, “Probably not Sammy, but why take the risk?”

Glaring at Dean, Sam opens his mouth to retort, but John cuts him off, apparently eager to circumvent the brotherly squabbling.

“So Cas,” begins John amicably, smiling at Castiel across the table, “How’s Jimmy doing?  And the missus, of course.  Haven’t heard much about them in a while.”

“Jimmy?” Cas asks blankly and John chuckles.

“You know, your brother?  About yay-high,” he holds a hand level with the top of Cas’ head, “looks just like you?”

Dean jerks his head around at that.  Jimmy is Cas’ twin brother in this world?  So he _does_ exist.. and he’s married.  Does that mean..

“Ah,” Cas says, course-correcting smoothly as he adds, “Jimmy and Amelia are well.  Dean and I were actually just talking about asking them to bring Claire for a visit.  It’s been too long.”

John nods along agreeably, which tells Dean both that Cas said the right thing and that Claire Novak is indeed alive and well in the world where everyone lives. 

Dean raises his eyebrows, impressed.  How the hell did Cas learn to human so well?

He asks the man as much later, when they have a moment of privacy as they stand side-by-side, washing the dinner dishes. 

“Pretty smooth back there, man.  When did you learn to act so well?”

“To act like what?” Cas asks, confused.

“Uh, a person?” Dean tries. 

Cas frowns, unimpressed, and adopts a haughty air, “I _have_ been observing humanity since your first bipedal steps, Dean.  It’s hardly surprising that I would have learned how to imitate your ‘small talk’ by now.”

Dean shoots Cas a flat look over the plate he’s drying, “Sure, except that every time you actually try to talk like one of us you end up sounding like a cross between Spock and Robocop.  What gives?”

Cas tries to pull off righteous indignation for a moment, then deflates under Dean’s disbelieving stare.

“If you must know,” he starts grumpily, “I’m mostly repeating dialogue I’ve heard on television.  I may not have my angelic abilities here, but I do still possess my infinite memories.  It’s nothing to sort through the various scripts I’ve seen played out on television and select the lines most appropriate for the current conversation.  In fact, I’m not sure why I never thought to do it before.  It’s quite effective.”

Dean nods thoughtfully, “Pretty impressive, Cas.”  He nudges Cas’ shoulder affectionately.

The corners of Cas’ mouth quirk up in a small smile and they finish the dishes in comfortable silence.

***

Dean’s feeling mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted by the time they get back to the _other_ Cas and Dean’s apartment that night.  Sharing a meal with his parents and brother (and Cas, of course.  Dean’s told Cas he’s family on more than one occasion and he meant it), was amazing, but honestly, Dean still feels like he’s got a major case of emotional whiplash.  Right now, all he wants is his pillow and his memory foam mattress, but since those are fucking who-knows-how-far-away in a goddamn different _universe_ , he’ll have to settle for whatever this Dean and Cas have to offer in the way of nighttime comfort, speaking of which.. 

He and Cas hadn’t spoken much on the ride back to Lawrence, both lost in their own thoughts, but now, as they stand in the apartment’s master bedroom (the master bedroom with _one_ bed, of course), Dean remembers the feel of his arm around the other man’s shoulders at dinner, and he grimaces at the memory of that ridiculous show he put on for Sam and Jess.  Cas had seemed okay with it at the time, but was he really?  Christ, Dean had made _kissy faces_ at a goddamn seraph of Heaven!

“Hey, man,” he starts nervously, “I hope I didn’t weird you out with the PDA back there.”

“PDA,” Cas says slowly. “Public displays of affection?  Ah, you mean the touching and the.. snuggling?  At Sam’s earlier.”

“Wha- we weren’t _snuggling,_ ” Deans stutters, partly in horror and partly in regret (was snuggling an option?), “But yeah, _that.”_

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas assures him.  “Based on Sam’s reaction, it appears that this Dean and Castiel are a rather.. affectionate couple.  If we’re going to emulate them in public, we may have to engage in some,” he raises his eyebrows at Dean, “ _not_ -snuggling from time to time.”

 _Snarky ex-angel,_ Dean thinks as he strips down to his boxers and t-shirt for bed.  Back in the bunker, he’s an underwear only kind of sleeper (if that), and it looks like that’s something he has in common with this Dean as well, since he’s searched every dresser drawer and hasn’t found a single pair of pajama pants. There’s no way he’s stripping down to just his skivvies when he has to sleep in the same bed as Cas though, so the t-shirt stays.  Cas seems to have had the same idea, or at the very least, he’s copied Dean.  As an angel, Cas really only has to sleep if he’s injured or running low on mojo, so Dean’s not sure if he even has an opinion on sleepwear. 

Out of ways to stall, they both turn and look at the king size bed.  Dean fidgets nervously, and _of course,_ Castiel notices.

“Dean, if you’re uncomfortable, I can always sleep on the couch.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean answers, “You’re not sleeping on the couch, Cas.  It’s a king size bed for fuck’s sake.  There plenty of room for both of us.  We won’t even know the other one’s there.  Besides, it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

“True, but I hardly think this is the same as collapsing into a cheap motel bed for a 2 hour nap after spending 6 hours hunting a wendigo in the rain.”  He pauses, then continues, “Sharing a bed as a married couple.  It has.. connotations.”

“I’m aware of the _connotations,_ Cas.”  Dean counters roughly.  “I said it’s fine.  Now get in the goddamn bed.”

Cas complies, though he still looks uncertain, and Dean slips into his side of the bed, letting out a surprised sigh as he does.  “Thank _fuck!_ Memory foam!”

Cas rolls his eyes and turns out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

All is silent, until Cas, the sadistic fucker, says, “It occurs to me that this world’s Dean and Cas have almost certainly been.. intimate, in this bed.”

Dean throws an arm over his face and lets out a muffled groan, “I _really_ wish you hadn’t said that, Cas.” He’s been trying desperately not to imagine that _exact_ thing.

“Yes,” comes Castiel’s slightly strangled reply, “I regret it as well.”

Sleep is a long time coming for both of them.

***

The next morning, following a longer-than-strictly-necessary shower (because, damn, was that thing amazing!), Dean dresses in a worn t-shirt and jeans and treks out to the kitchen, where he stops in his tracks.  Cas, still sleep rumpled in yesterday’s t-shirt and boxers, sits on a stool at the island countertop, glaring at the steaming mug of black coffee in his hands as if it were entirely to blame for the existence of mornings.  Grinning affectionately, Dean bites his lip to stifle a chuckle.  He’d forgotten how much human-Castiel is _not_ a morning person and also how unbelievably cute the combination of bedhead and Cas’ sleepy smite-face are. 

“Morning,” Dean greets, reaching for a coffee mug of his own.

“Apparently,” grouses Cas without moving his eyes away from the novelty mug, decorated with a cartoon bee (naturally), and the words, “Don’t worry, bee happy,” in scripted font.  Pulling down a mug that he’s certain belongs to this world’s Dean Winchester (“This could be whiskey.”), Dean fills it with coffee and pulls out a stool to join Cas at the island.

“Shouldn’t Cas be at work already?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.  “Don’t coffee shops open, like, stupid early?”

With a grunt, Cas points at the refrigerator, where Dean sees a shift schedule scrawled on a torn off piece of paper held in place by a ceramic magnet (another goddamn bee).  Stepping closer, Dean reads the scrawled days and times.  It looks like Cas works the midday shift at The Busy Bean, so he doesn’t have to be downstairs until 9.  Glancing back at the hunched over former seraph currently breathing in the steam from his coffee mug like it can restore his angelic grace, Dean thinks he might be able to guess why that is.   Apparently, he’s not the only one who shares some characteristics with his other-world self.

“Alright, guess I’m off to my first day in the world of ‘automotive restoration,’” Dean announces, quoting the website where they’d found Dean’s picture the day before and trying not to sound as excited as he actually feels. 

Cas just lifts a hand vaguely in farewell (or dismissal, could be either) and takes another long drink of his coffee.  Chuckling and shaking his head fondly, Dean steps out the apartment door.

***

The shop is everything Dean was anticipating and more.  That morning, he picked up where Dean had apparently left off the week before, restoring a 1969 Corvette Sting Ray that’s going to be an absolute doll when he’s done with her.  The shop keeps detailed online files for each restoration, documenting each step of the process with photographs, so Dean’s able to look back over the little coupe’s history before getting to work.  It’s only proper to get to know a lady before taking a look under her skirt, after all.  The old girl had been in rough shape when she’d been brought in by a guy who’d picked her up at an estate sale, but Dean had done excellent work so far (of course he had, he’s Dean-Fucking-Winchester, bizarro-alternate-universe or not), and it’s easy to imagine how she’s going to look when all is said and done.  Dean is more than a little excited to be a part of that.

He meets a few of the other guys who work at the shop as well.  Some are all-around gear heads, like Dean, but a few have specialties, like Jeff, their paint guy.  Fortunately, a long career impersonating FBI agents and talking around information he needed, but was already supposed to know, makes discreetly learning about the co-workers this world’s Dean has known for years a piece of cake.  Dean’s certain no one he’s encountered so far has suspected anything off about him (not that they’d suspect their long-time friend and co-worker has been replaced by his alternate-universe-doppelganger, but still).

As lunch time rolls around, he wonders how Cas is making out, recalling that today’s not only the angel’s first day playing this world’s Castiel, but his first full day as a human again as well.  He’s not sure if Cas will appreciate the check-in or resent it, but he decides to have lunch at The Busy Bean anyway.

Dean parks in the lot around back and cuts through the alley to the building’s entrance.  Familiar blue eyes look up at him from underneath a mop of dark, unruly hair (Cas’ hair sans angel-mojo is truly a sight to behold).  Looking a little more wan than Dean would like, Cas gives him a slightly frazzled smile.

“Hello, Dean. How was your morning?”

“It was good, man.  We’ve got a sweet little ’69 Sting Ray in the shop right now that’s gonna be a real looker when she’s done,” Dean says exuberantly, then drops his voice and adds, “I almost hope we’ll still be here then, just so I can see her all dolled up.”

Cas leans forward over the counter and his breath that close to his ear definitely does _not_ send a shiver up Dean’s spine as he says quietly, “You may get your wish.  I’ve been thinking about it this morning, Dean, and in a world with absolutely no supernatural forces, I’m not sure how we’d even begin to go about looking for a way back.”

Dean considers this for a moment.  Cas is right, of course.  No supernatural means no magic; no spells; no portals; and no gods, demi-gods, angels, or even (Dean shudders) witches who could potentially help them find a way back to their world.  On the other hand, they haven’t officially confirmed the apparent lack of the supernatural in this world, which he reminds Cas of.

“Dude, I hear what you’re saying, but I think we should probably dig a little deeper than 3 hours worth of Google searches before declaring this world free of all hocus pocus.”

Nodding his assent, the not-angel glances at the clock, “Don’t you need to be getting back soon?”

“Yeah, just wanted to stop in and see how your day’s going.  So, how is it going?” Dean ends hesitantly.

Cas’ earlier smile returns, a little wider and more genuine, before his lips tighten slightly and his eyes dull a little as he answers, “Fine.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says disbelievingly, but decides to make like Elsa and let it go as he orders a coffee and a roast beef sandwich that thank-fucking-God is actually _called_ a roast beef sandwich on the menu board and not some cutesy-fucking-name like Dean was half expecting.

He’s halfway through his (surprisingly tasty) sandwich, when a crash and a disgruntled yelp from the other side of the counter catch his attention.  Looking up, he sees his favorite of Heaven’s warriors engaged in what looks to be a (losing) battle with the espresso machine, frantically mopping up milk while glowering at the machine with his most potent smite-face.

“No, no! Stop!  What are you – FUCK!”  Dean chokes on his Americano (yes, he _knows_ what that is, fuck you very much).  Cas had spat out the last word, somehow managing to both sound and look infuriated and uncertain at the same time, the profanity unfamiliar on his tongue.  Dean bites his lip and suppresses a smile.  Goddamn adorable was what it was, but he doesn’t think Cas would appreciate that observation right now.

_Stupidly adorable angel._

“Did you just say, fuck?”  Dean asks instead. 

Cas shoots him Smite-face #3 (Sam had _finally_ run out of new bitchfaces for Dean to catalog and Cas’ smitey glares had seemed the next logical thing) and, unsurprisingly, Dean finds that pretty damn adorable too.

“You often strike inanimate objects and swear at them when they aren’t performing to your expectations,” he explains uncertainly, “it seems to make you feel better.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, “And? Do you feel better?”

Cas tilts his head to the side, considering. 

“Maybe?”  He sighs. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” he admits.  “I believe I preferred my last place of employment.”

“Heaven?” Dean asks, confused.

Cas rolls his eyes and gives him a flat look, “The Gas-n-Sip.”  He pauses, then adds darkly, “There, people poured their own coffee.”

Chuckling, Dean reaches across the counter to rest a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder. 

“Just hang in there, buddy.  You’ll get the hang of this.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

Dean hides his grin in the other half of his roast beef sandwich, as Cas tilts his head and launches into the history of how long the construction of Rome _actually_ took.

_Goddam adorable angel._

***

It’s surprising how quickly they start to slip into a routine.  In the mornings, they share a cup of coffee at the kitchen island, mostly in silence.  Dean occasionally tries to start a conversation, of course, just to irritate the grumpy angel and see if he can earn a new smite-face for his collection (this is actually how Dean gets Smite-face #5), but Cas generally answers in grunts and glares.  Then, Dean heads off to the shop, while Cas spends Chuck-only-knows-how-much-longer visually berating his coffee mug before finally dragging himself to the shower and down the stairs to The Busy Bean for his shift.  Dean spends his lunch break at the coffee shop every day, which according to the other patrons and employees is “so cute,” but really, he’s just been a little concerned since Cas’ crushing defeat with the espresso machine during his first visit and he figures it doesn’t hurt anything to check up on the guy.  Plus, they have really good coffee and Dean still has 4 more sandwiches to try on the menu board.

Cas does look to be getting the hang of things though, just like Dean promised.  He seems much calmer when Dean visits him at lunch and Dean hasn’t witnessed any more latte-induced meltdowns since that first day.  The angel has also looked a little less smitey each night after returning home from work, even though they’ve gotten no closer to finding a way home. 

Today’s Thursday though and Cas had the day off from The Busy Bean.  Being the new guy, he typically has one day off during the week, since he has to cover the dreaded Saturday shift none of the college kids want to work since they’re too busy recovering from Friday night’s bad decisions and planning the poor choices that will lead to Sunday’s recovery.  On his way home from the shop, Dean wonders if Cas had a chance to do any further research on the absence or presence of the supernatural in this world.

His wondering is put to an end when he unlocks the apartment door and opens it to a spotless apartment and the smell of lemon fresh Pine Sol.  He sees the ex-angel seated criss-cross applesauce on the plush white sofa (since when does Cas sit any way _other_ than like he’s got a stick up his angelic ass?) and for a moment the whole scene is so startingly domestic that it sends a sharp pain through Dean’s insides.  He reminds himself viciously that this is only temporary.  This isn’t _their_ life. 

“You cleaned?”  He asks the angel on the couch.

Without taking his eyes off the tv above that god-awful gas fireplace, Cas answers, “There was no way to ascertain the cleaning schedule of this world’s Cas and Dean.  The wisest course of action seemed to be to clean the apartment sooner, rather than later.”

“Okay, but you didn’t have to do it all on your own, you know?  I can clean.”  Dean’s not sure why he’s arguing this point, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty, especially when he remembers that Cas learned to clean during his stint as a homeless Gas-n-Sip employee after Dean threw the graceless angel out of the bunker.

The once-again-graceless-angel shrugs, “You’ve been doing all of the cooking.  I’m happy to contribute.”  Grimacing at the television, he adds, “Plus, I ran into a dead end with my research fairly early on and felt the need to do _something_ productive.”

Dean makes a noncommittal noise and kicks off his work boots.  At a pointed look from Cas, he rolls his eyes and carries the boots to their (the, it’s not _theirs,_ Christ _)_ closet, before helping himself to a beer.  As he passes back through the living room on his way to the kitchen, the angel turns to him, a quizzical look on his face.

“Dean, are all human relationships subject to such tragic circumstances?  If that’s really the case, I’m not sure why anyone bothers with them at all.  It hardly seems worth the inevitable heartache.”

“What do you mean, ‘tragic circumstances?’” Dean asks distractedly from the kitchen where he’s perusing the contents of the refrigerator and cabinets in search of dinner.  “I mean, sure, sad things happen sometimes, but the good typically outweighs the bad.. unless you’re a Winchester” he adds as an after-thought.

“Premature death seems to be a common theme, along with finding out one was adopted, or switched at birth, or in one rather disturbing case that one was actually switched at birth, then adopted, and the half-sibling of their partner.”  Cas casts the tv a distrusting glare.

Alarmed, Dean walks over to where Cas is still sitting cross-legged on the living room sofa and grabs the remote, “What the hell are you watching, anyway?”

Cas gestures to the tv and Dean scoffs, “ _Lifetime?_  You can’t believe the shit you see on there, man.  Those are chick flicks and they’re meant to be as goddamn depressing as possible.  Is this where you’re getting your how-to-talk-like-people scripts from?”

Cas ignores Dean’s question, so, yes.  Dean grins.  Someone who used to be roughly the size of the Chrysler building shouldn’t be able to be so damn adorable, but the mysteries of Castiel are many.

“I don’t see what makes them, ‘chick flicks’ Dean,” said ex-celestial skyscraper huffs.  “Approximately half the cast are males.”

“They’re romances Cas.  Highly exaggerated and unrealistic love stories.  Here,” he says, scrolling through the channel guide and making a new selection, “Star Wars.  There’s a movie worth watching.”

“You’ve made me watch the entire series before,” Cas points out with a frown.

Dean grins.  “No such thing as too much Leia, Cas,” he says with a wink.

“You do realize that the story of Leia and Han Solo could quite accurately be described as a ‘highly exaggerated and unrealistic love story,’ right?”

“But it’s a _manly_ love story, Cas,” Dean defends with a glare, “and there’s nothing _highly exaggerated_ about Han Solo.  He’s a badass!”

“Wouldn’t a ‘manly’ love story involve a relationship between two men?” Cas asks, seemingly innocent.  “I did see a movie like that once, although I’m not certain..”

“Dinner!” Dean, splutters, choking on his beer. “How about we make some dinner?”  He is in _no way_ prepared to hear the end of that sentence. 

Blessedly distracted, the former angel squints at him, “What did you have in mind?”  Cas still hasn’t adjusted to needing to eat as a human again, not to mention his total resentment of the _other_ biological processes that follow eating.  He tends to look at most food like it’s insulted his family’s only cow, but Dean has an idea that he thinks Cas’ll be totally on board with.

“How about burgers?”  He asks with a smile.  He found ground beef in the refrigerator and buns on the counter.  Apparently the culinary tastes of one Dean Winchester are the same no matter what world he’s in.

“I enjoy hamburgers,” Cas points out, entirely unnecessarily. 

Dean smiles as he remembers Cas “enjoying” hamburgers when they were trying to avert the Apocalypse.  Sure, he’d been under Famine’s influence then, but it was still the first time Dean had ever seen the angel take pleasure in something.  He recalls at the time wishing that Cas had been hungering for something other than burgers and turns away before the other man can see him blush.

“Well, come on, I’ll teach you how to make’em.”

Dean sets Cas to chopping and slicing onions and begins to measure out spices for his famous, secret-recipe burgers (Okay, so he saw Gordon Ramsey make them this way on the Food Network once, but no one needs to know that).  He’s just dumped everything into a large mixing bowl and is getting ready to mash it all together when a loud sniffle makes him look up.. and burst out laughing when he gets a look at Cas.  The ex-angel’s face is red and blotchy and tears are streaming down his cheeks.  He glares at Dean.

“As an angel, I had full control over my vessel’s sensory reactions,” he says haughtily.  “But this.. Human bodies are very inconvenient,” he ends in a huff.

Still laughing, Dean reaches up to wipe away one tear track with his thumb, then uses his other hand to pull Cas away from the onion board where only half the onion has been sliced. 

“Here, you big baby.  _I’ll_ finish the onions.  You can mix up the meat for the burgers.”

“How?”  Cas asks dubiously, looking from the mixing bowl to Dean.

“Well, it’s easiest if you just use your hands..” He rolls his eyes at Cas’ incredulous look and pulls a wooden spoon out of the drawer next to the stove, “but here, you can use this.  Just make sure to get all the spices mixed in evenly.”

A few minutes later, Dean takes over from Cas again to shape the ground meat into burger patties.  Cas wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t say anything, and Dean shakes his head disbelievingly.  

“Really?  I’ve seen you torture demons and behead vampires without batting an eye, but raw meat makes you squeamish?”

Cas shoots him a squinty-eyed glare and Dean thinks the former angel might really be missing his smiting abilities right about now.

“It’s different.  I wasn’t going to be.. ingesting the vampire afterward.”

Dean shudders, “And let’s all take a moment to be thankful for _that_.”

Cas watches as he fries up the burgers, crowding into Dean’s space so closely that Dean’s not sure which he feels more, the heat from the stove in front of him, the heat of _Cas_ behind him, or the heat of his own crimson face. 

“What happened to _personal space?”_ he asks hoarsely.

“We discussed that we would need to become more comfortable with public displays of affection if we are to successfully convince the other inhabitants of this world that we’re _their_ Dean and Castiel,” Cas argues.  “I think becoming comfortable with one another’s proximity would be a good step in that direction.”

“So, what?  This is like, practice?”  Dean asks, looking desperately for a life line here.

“If you want to think of it that way, yes.” Cas says simply.

And who is Dean to argue when Cas gives him such a perfectly reasonable explanation?  So instead, he relaxes and enjoys the “proximity.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Cas has jokes and he and Dean have more adventures in "proximity.."


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelin' the slow burn in this chapter.

Another week passes in much the same way.  On Sunday, they join Sam, Jess, Mom, and Dad for dinner again, because apparently Sunday dinners are something the Winchester clan do (and who the fuck would have ever seen _that_ one coming?).  The following week is spent in what is quickly becoming their usual routine.  They sleep in the same bed, go to their respective jobs, and cook dinner together in the evenings.  Cas might actually be able to make a small meal without direct supervision soon, if they’re here much longer. 

Dean puts the finishing touches on the Sting Ray coupe and sends her off to Jeff for a shiny new paint job in cobalt blue.  He continues to eat lunch at The Busy Bean most days, even though it’s pretty clear that Cas has settled into his new job and no longer needs the moral support.  The barista’s eyes still light up every time Dean walks in though, which keeps him coming back despite the embarrassing chorus of “awws” this never fails to elicit from Cas’ idiotic college co-workers.  He’s even traded in his Americano for whatever drink special they have for that day.  Dean’s never been one for frou-frou coffee, that’s more Sam’s thing, but Cas looks downright proud as he watches Dean drink the Walkin’-on-Sunshine-Butterscotch-Latte or Caramel-Clouds-Macchiato he prepared and Dean can’t find it in himself to complain.  Plus, the coffee’s actually not bad, but he won’t tell Sam that.

Everything is moving along smoothly, well, except for the fact that they’re stuck in a parallel world with no way back and no clue where to even start looking for one.  They’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that they’re stuck in the The-World-Where-Everyone-Lives until Amara decides Dean’s found “what he needs most” and sends them home.  _If_ she plans to come back for them, that is.  Dean’s not sure the Darkness plays by the usual rule book of divine revelation.  But, you know, aside from all _that,_ things are.. comfortable.  At least, they’re comfortable until Dean sticks a foot in his mouth (and not his normal, Dean-sized foot either:  more like Sam’s giant, over-sized, hairy Sasquatch foot) and nearly fucks it all up.

It’s Sunday again, and they’re at Sam and Jess’ house in Overland Park, getting ready to enjoy another family dinner.  The rest of the family is sitting outside on the back deck, drinking beer and laughing together as they wait for Sam to finish grilling the steaks they’re about to devour.  Dean takes a moment to enjoy watching them from the sliding glass door between the backyard and the kitchen, where he’d slipped away to a moment ago to grab another beer.  The novelty of this, a casual dinner with his _family_ , hasn’t worn off yet, and on the off-chance Amara _does_ come back for them Dean wants to commit every moment he can to memory.  He’s still standing there, lost in thought, when he feels Cas’ presence behind him.

The angel has been making an obvious effort to appear more affectionate when they’re in public together.  Dean had anticipated the more obvious gestures:  arms around shoulders, hand-holding, the occasional hug or kiss on the cheek between them.  It’s the more casual touches, the ones that probably seem more like background static than deliberate affection to those around them that are getting to Dean:  a palm to the small of his back as they walk into a room, a gentle press at the waist to move Dean slightly to the side so Cas can reach past him for the plate of steaks on the kitchen counter, an almost careless brush of fingertips down his arm as the other man moves around Dean to reach his seat on the deck. 

In private, Cas has kept to their experiments in proximity, constantly finding his way into Dean’s space, but never touching:  leaning over Dean as they prepare dinner, moving his stool directly next to Dean’s as they drink their morning coffee, sitting in the middle of the goddamn couch as they watch a movie instead of taking the other end.  The jarring juxtaposition of public affection with private proximity is driving Dean crazy.  He keeps finding himself longing to lean into a touch that never comes.  And it _hurts_.  Intellectually, Dean knows Cas is just keeping to what they’ve agreed to and, knowing the angel, is trying to respect Dean’s boundaries.  That doesn’t stop the feeling of rejection from creeping over Dean at the lack of Cas’ body pressed against his every time they enter their apartment.  Worse, is that Dean knows it’s not actually the lack of physical touch that’s making him feel rejected, it’s Cas’ lack of _desire_ for touching Dean.  Knowing that Cas’ public touches are all just part of a carefully crafted display meant to fool their friends and family is _killing_ Dean. 

That’s why, when he feels Cas’ chin hook over his shoulder and the man’s hands begin to creep around his waist, Dean ignores his quickening pulse and the flutter in his chest to spit out bitterly, “Is this something else you learned by watching the Lifetime channel?” 

Cas immediately starts to pull back, the jerkiness in the motion relaying the hurt behind it and _Christ,_ Dean’s an asshole.  He quickly reaches behind him and stops Cas’ retreat with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t” he chokes out, then clears his throat and tries again, “You don’t have to stop.  You’re doing great.  I’m just an asshole.”

He tries to tug Cas’ arm back around his waist, but the man resists, saying hesitantly, “Dean, if this is making you uncomfortable, we don’t have to..”

Dean cuts him off with a rough sigh, “It’s not making me uncomfortable.  _You’re_ not making me uncomfortable,” he emphasizes, then seeing Cas’ incredulous look in his peripheral vision adds, “Not exactly, anyway.”

Looking both confused and resigned, it’s Cas’ turn to sigh. “Dean, all of your former partners have been women,” Dean’s heart absolutely does _not_ skip a beat at the implication that _Cas_ is his current partner, “and while angels don’t adhere to human concepts of gender, this vessel is most definitely male.  I can understand if the idea of physical.. closeness, with me might make you uncomfortable.” 

Is Dean projecting, or does Cas actually look saddened by that thought?  Either way, Dean feels the need to reassure the former angel.

“It’s not that, Cas,” he says quietly.  “This is just.. different, between us, that’s all.  It’s just taking some getting used to.”  Seeing the sad look still on Cas’ face, he rushes to add, “Different doesn’t necessarily mean _bad_ though.  It’s not _bad_ , Cas.  It’s.. nice, actually.”

“Nice,” is one hell of an understatement, but Dean’s more than a little worried that if he tries for anything more he’ll end up confessing that he wants to be the filling in a Cas-burrito pretty much all the goddamn time.  Worse, he might admit that having Cas’ arms around him is the safest he’s felt since a yellow-eyed demon found his way into Sam’s nursery some 30 years ago.

“If you’re sure.”

Cas sounds uncertain, but he doesn’t resist this time when Dean pulls him back in, and this time, when the angel wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, Dean leans back into the touch.

“Yeah, Cas.  I’m sure.”

***

Things are going smoothly again following Dean’s idiotic pre-dinner performance, but because he’s Dean Winchester and he’s clearly not stressed enough right now, his mother manages to change all of that with one seemingly innocent question.

“So, have you two decided what you’re doing next weekend?” asks Mom brightly, looking between Dean and Cas, who both freeze in various stages of chewing.

Recovering first, Dean asks, “Why?  What’s next weekend?”  This is probably something he should already know, but there’s nothing for it.

“Um, your _anniversary_ ,” Sam says helpfully, shooting Dean one of his most disappointed bitchfaces (#17, in case you were wondering).  “Really, Dean, you forgot _again?_ After five years, you’d think you might remember.”

Mom shakes her head fondly and shoots a long-suffering look at Castiel.  “Really Cas, I tried to raise him better than that, I promise.  I’m not sure how you put up with him.”

“I wasn’t aware there was another option,” Cas deadpans, and the room fills with good-natured chuckles.  Dean, however, looks at the former seraph in surprise.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“I make jokes,” Cas answers defensively, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean quips, “They’re just not usually funny.” 

“Ow!” He yelps suddenly when Jess smacks him on the back of the head as she passes by on her way to the kitchen.  “Don’t mess up my hair,” he adds, then freezes as Sam begins chortling across the table.

“Don’t mess up your _hair?_   Okay, princess,” Sam snorts.

“Those who live in glass towers shouldn’t throw stones, Rapunzel,” Dean counters.

“Okay,” says Sam smugly, “we’ll let your _husband_ decide.  Cas, who’s more of a princess, me or Dean?”

Cas pretends to consider this for a moment before looking seriously at Sam.  “I’m going to have to say Dean, but only because I think he’d look prettier in a dress,” Cas finishes, shooting a smug look at Dean as the table erupts in laughter.

“See, my jokes are funny.”

“You never answered the question,” Jess points out, and here Dean thought he liked her.  “What are you doing for your anniversary next weekend?”

“Uh, we’ll probably just stay in,” Dean answers quickly.  “Have a low-key evening at home, you know?”

“Actually,” Cas interrupts with a wicked glint in his eye, “I think I’d like to go out.”  Dean knows this is payback for the joke comment.  Divine retribution _is_ kind of Cas’ thing after all.

“Okay, Sweetheart,” Dean says with a forced smile, “Where would you like to go?”

Cas hums, leaning back in his chair, “I think I’ll let it be a surprise.”

“Peachy,” Dean mutters.

***

Dean spends the entire next week worrying about Cas’ “surprise” anniversary date.  He’s never been a big fan of surprises.  After all, he reasons, surprises for the Winchesters have almost never been a good thing.  By the time Saturday evening rolls around the following week, he’s a nervous wreck.

Cas eyes the powder blue Civic like he always does when they get ready to drive somewhere, but he quickly acquiesces to Dean’s insistence that they take the Impala, clearly able to see how tense the other man is. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Cas says with an eyeroll as they pull out of the parking lot.  “Where could I possibly be taking you that would warrant this kind of a reaction?  I’ve seen you battle monsters, demons, and even angels who planned to tear you apart piece-by-piece without looking this nervous.”

Dean’s mind is instantly filled with images of fancy French restaurants with wine lists, unpronounceable menu items in tiny portions, and snooty waiters who look at Dean like he’s something sticky they’ve just discovered on the bottom of their shoe.   

“I don’t like surprises,” he answers gruffly.

Cas rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t relent, giving Dean step-by-step directions to their “date.” 

Dean’s eyes widen as they pull into their destination:  a local brewery and restaurant on the edge of town.  Eyes scanning the interior as they walk though the large, glass and wood doors, Dean takes a moment to be impressed by the sight of the large metal drums lining the walkway in the neighboring brewery, separated from the restaurant by a long glass wall with a set of doors at the far end.  The restaurant itself is warm and spacious.  It feels classy and upscale without being pretentious or intimidating.  Dean is immediately won over as he and Cas are led to a small, two-person table marked with a “Reserved” placard that reads, “Happy Anniversary, Dean and Castiel,” on the back.

“Cas, this is great,” Dean announces warmly as each sip on the flights of beer they’d ordered while they await their award-winning burgers. 

“I thought you might like it,” Cas says as the corner of his mouth tilts upward in a pleased smirk.  “I thought perhaps after dinner we could sample a flight of whiskey.  I think it’ll go well with their bourbon pecan pie.”

“Yeah, okay, show off,” Dean grouses with an amused eye roll, “you’ve made your point.  This is the perfect, ‘Dean Winchester,’ anniversary dinner and I’m an asshole for doubting you.”

Fortunately, smug is a good look on Cas, the bastard.

Cas reaches across the table to pat Dean’s hand in mock-sympathy.  “It’s okay Dean,” he says slyly, “I’ll only hold this over your head for as long as you would me, were our situations reversed.”

He leaves his hand covering Dean’s and Dean squirms a bit, fighting the urge to turn his hand over and interlace their fingers.

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, Cas looks concerned as he asks, “Dean?  Is something wrong?”

“Nah, nothing’s wrong.  Everything’s great really.  It’s just..”

When he stalls, Cas gives his fingers a squeeze where his hand is still lying atop Dean’s and Dean sighs.

“It’s just, _this,_ ” he finishes, returning the squeeze.

“I thought..” Cas looks like he wants to pull his hand back, but Dean doesn’t loosen his grip, and the other man stumbles over his words, “Last weekend, you said..”

“I know what I said, and I meant it,” Dean assures him.  “It’s just, I’m having trouble keeping everything straight in my head,” he admits.

At Cas’ confused head tilt, he tries to explain further, “It’s like, we’re in public right now, right?  But there’s no one here we know, no one who knows ‘Dean and Castiel Winchester.’ So, do we hold hands like we would at Sam or Jess’ or in the cafe?  Or do we just hang out, like we would at the apartment?”

Wrinkling his forehead, Cas says, “We _are_ on a date for our anniversary.  I don’t think a little hand-holding would be outside of the norm.”

“It’s not really _our_ anniversary though, is it?” Dean asks softly.

Cas reflects on this for a moment, then says contemplatively, “No, I suppose _our_ anniversary would be in September.”

Floored, Dean stares for a moment, reflecting on the fact that they _do_ actually have an anniversary.. of a sort.  What _do_ you get the angel who risked his own immortal life to rescue you from the bowels of Hell, then defied all of Heaven for you?  And what’s 8 years anyway?  Bronze?  Hmm, that could work, Dean thinks.  Cas might actually like a bronze dagger.  And _fuck!_   This is exactly what Dean’s talking about. 

“I can’t tell where the line is anymore, man,” Dean almost whispers.

Looking frustrated, Cas does finally withdraw his hand as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms defensively, “Dean, you keep saying you’re not uncomfortable, but if I’m crossing a line..”

“You’re not!” Dean says immediately, holding up his hands and startling both of them with the volume and certainty of his statement. “You’re not, I promise,” he repeats softer, before ending with, “but I think I might be.”

At this, Cas leans forward and props one elbow up on the table, resting his chin in his hand as he studies Dean.  After this many years, Dean’s not unused to the intensity of Cas’ scrutiny, but in this particular context, he has to fight the urge to squirm.

Eventually, Cas speaks, “What I believe you are saying,” he starts slowly, eyes holding Dean’s, “is that you’re having difficulty with the transition between how we interact physically in private vs. public spaces.”

“Yes,” Dean nods emphatically, relieved that they _finally_ seem to be getting somewhere.

“Would it help,” Cas begins hesitantly, suddenly dropping his gaze to the table between them, “if there was no line?”

Dean swallows, “No line?”

“If we were to extend our ‘public displays of affection’ to the apartment and the Impala as well, there wouldn’t be a need for us to transition from one type of interaction to another,” Cas explains reasonably, as if this is no big deal at all and _not_ something that completely fucking changes the structure of their goddamn relationship (friendship, _friendship!)_.

Fighting the urge to just agree without further thought, because even in Cas-speak that sounds like the kind of terrible idea Dean thinks is fucking _great_ , Dean stutters, “Cas, don’t feel like you have to do something you don’t wanna, just for me.  My comfort’s not the only thing that matters here.”

Smiling wryly, Cas meets Dean’s eyes again, “Dean, I rebelled against all of Heaven, thwarted what was up until then believed to be ‘God’s plan,’ managed to disobey Naomi’s _very_ thorough brainwashing, and even declared myself God for a short time.  I’m not exactly known for doing things that I _don’t_ want to do.”

“Point,” Dean concedes and holy shit!  Does that mean that Cas _wants_ to be closer to Dean?

Dean’s not really sure what to do with that, but for once in his goddamn life he knows when it’s time to stop fighting.

“Okay,” he says as their fucking-delicious-looking burgers arrive.

“Okay,” Cas agrees.

***

Cas starts small when it comes to erasing the line between their private and public levels of affection, hooking his ankle around Dean’s as they sit drinking coffee, in their usual places at the kitchen island the following morning.  Dean would balk at being treated like some sort of skittish cat, but he’s kind of a skittish cat, so he let’s himself be grateful instead.

That night at Sam and Jess’, Dean happily answers his family’s questions about their anniversary date, talking exuberantly about the excellent beer, the fucking awesome burgers, and oh-my-God-the-pie!  Cas just watches him talk with a small smile on his face as he sips at a glass of white wine from the bottle he’s sharing with Jess.

Beaming, Mary leans across Jess to give Cas’ hand an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you, Castiel,” she says warmly, “for treating my first baby so well.  I’ve always known Dean was in good hands with you, but it feels good to see that you still make him this happy.”

Cas blushes and looks down at the table, “He deserves it.  He makes me very happy as well.”

Dean’s still processing that statement when Jess chimes in.

“You’re good for each other,” she smiles broadly, “even if you are disgustingly cute.”

“It’s true,” John adds from across the table with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “Dean’s a lot less of an asshole since meeting you.”

“To Dean and Castiel,” Sam toasts obnoxiously, “May Dean have many more years of Cas’ good influence, for all our sakes.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Dean snarks, but he squeezes back when Cas’ fingers find his under the table and doesn’t let go for the rest of the meal.

He takes Cas’ hand again as they walk down the driveway to where the Impala is waiting to take them back to Lawrence.  Letting go to walk around Baby’s front and sliding into the driver’s side, Dean takes a deep breath and looks down to where Cas has laid his hand, palm up on seat between them.  It’s an invitation, but not a demand.  He’s not even looking at Dean, but instead is smiling gently as he watches John and Mary snipe at one another playfully before climbing into the cherry red Mustang.  The contentment and easy affection on his make-believe husband’s face as he observes the love between the eldest Winchester couple makes up Dean’s mind for him and he laces his fingers through Cas’. 

There.  Easy.  This is _easy_.  This is _good._

Things stay easy and good for the next few weeks.  They move through their usual routine with a few small additions.  Cas continues to play footsy with Dean while they drink their morning coffee.  Dean crowds up behind Cas and hooks his chin over the slightly shorter man’s shoulder as he coaches him through a stir fry.  Cas leans against Dean when he plops down onto the middle sofa cushion and Dean hooks and arm around his shoulder to pull him flush against his side.

Dean should have known it would all go ass over teakettle.  It always does for him.

They’re cuddled up on the couch on a Friday night, watching some made-for-tv Lifetime travesty (What?  Cas was watching it and Dean couldn’t bring himself to make him change the channel.  He’s not _that_ much of an asshole).  It’s late and over the course of the evening, they’ve both slid down in their seats more and more, until Dean’s lying on his back, propped up slightly against the sofa arm while Cas lays practically on top of him, arms around Dean’s middle and head resting on his chest.  It’s definitely the closest they’ve gotten so far and not even Dean can argue that this counts as anything other than cuddling.  When his phone buzzes on the table, Dean’s set to ignore it, but at the last minute decides to pick up.  Worried something might be wrong if someone’s bothering to call this late, Dean sits up, gently dislodging his angel, and reaches for the phone.

“Hello?” Dean greets groggily, but immediately knows from the strained sound of the answering voice that he was right.  Something is very wrong.

“Hey, Dean.  Do you have a moment?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter AND ends on a cliffhanger. Sorry guys!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The "canonical character death" tag comes into play in this chapter. The death is off-screen and not graphic, but still pretty damn sad, I think.

“Son of a bitch!”Dean swears, throwing his suit jacket at the closet door and pacing back and forth across their.. _the_.. bedroom floor.

“Dean,” Castiel says quietly from the doorway.

“Don’t, Cas,” Dean answers, rounding on the former angel with his finger raised in the air.  “Just don’t.”

Dean paces for a minute longer, Cas watching helplessly from the doorway, before he bursts out angrily, “It was supposed to be _different_ here.  This is the world where everyone lives!”

Raising his eyes to meet Cas’, helpless voice raw with pain, he asks, “Why not him?  In a world where everyone else gets to live, why not Bobby?” 

Dean collapses onto the edge of the bed, dropping his head in his hands as he recalls the phone conversation from a few days ago. 

 

_“Hey, Dean.  Do you have a moment?”_

_“Sure, Dad.  What’s going on?”_

_“You remember that old buddy of mine, Bobby Singer?  I used to take you guys to visit him out in Sioux Falls in the summers.”_

_Dean had felt his heart sink at his dad’s tone, but he kept his voice even.  This Dean didn’t have any particular connection to a grizzled old man living in a salvage yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  This Dean barely knew the man who had practically raised the Sam and Dean Winchester of another world._

_“Yeah?  What about him?”_

_“He passed away yesterday.  Heart attack.  I’ll understand if you and Cas can’t get off work, but it’d mean something if you came to the funeral.  Bobby lost his wife, Karen, to cancer early on.  Never had any kids of his own and he was always real fond of you and Sam.”_

_“I’m sorry, Dad,” Dean had said, fighting to keep his voice steady.  “Of course, we’ll come.”_

_“Thanks, Son.  Bobby, well, he’d been in a bad way for a long time now.  Drank too much, talked to people too little.  To lose the love of his life like that, so young..”_

_John trailed off and Dean wondered distantly if some small, subconscious part of the man was remembering a life that never happened in this world._

***

The drive to South Dakota was long and quiet.  Cas had placed his hand on the seat between them again, palm up in silent invitation, but Dean ignored it, keeping his gaze steadfast on the highway before them.  Eventually, Cas had withdrawn his hand and turned to look out the window.  There had been no judgement in Cas’ look before he turned his eyes to the window; no sting of rejection; no anger, but Dean felt something crack between them anyway.  It felt like something new and fragile being struck down before it had even had a chance to grow.  An angry, ugly part of Dean delighted in it.

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Dean saw matching garment bags hanging in Baby’s backseat, holding the freshly pressed suits they’d found in the closet as they packed for their impromptu trip to Sioux Falls.  Borrowed suits from a borrowed life, because Dean Winchester doesn’t get to have good things.  No, the best he could hope for was to steal a few golden moments from some other lucky bastard’s life before his own caught up with him and dragged everyone unfortunate enough to actually give a damn about Dean down with him.  Sometimes it felt like the Hellhounds never stopped chasing him.

Still lost in his dark thoughts, Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of their Sioux Falls hotel 6 hours later.  Unthinking, he asked for a double as they checked in.  It hadn’t been intentional, something said out of long ingrained habit after years of checking in and out of motels on hunts, but this time he did catch the flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes.  The angel didn’t say anything though, and Dean didn’t change his request.

Once they made it to the room, Dean dropped his suitcase on the floor and slung the garment bag bearing the other Dean’s suit over a chair, before grabbing a couple bottles of liquor out of the mini bar and collapsing on one of the room’s two beds.  He started drinking, ignoring Cas as the other man unzipped the garment bags, hanging up both suits in preparation for the next day’s funeral.

Dean felt Cas’ worried eyes on him several times throughout the evening as he polished off three of the tiny bottles of liquor, but they didn’t speak.  Cas didn’t say a word to Dean, probably trying to “give him his space” or some bullshit, until he’d readied himself for sleep and climbed into the other bed.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said quietly.

Dean turned away to face the wall instead of responding.  He knew that probably hurt Cas, but with the false-warmth of the liquor thrumming through his veins, he was too numb to care.

***

The sun shone bright and warm on the day they were to bury this world’s Bobby Singer and Dean resented its very existence.  The only small comfort he had was in knowing for a fact that there was no supernatural in this world and therefore no fucking celestial beings around to appreciate the fact that even the piece of shit sun had to have its turn fucking with Dean Winchester, mocking his stormy mood with enough cheerful sunbeams and chirping birds to fill a goddamn Disney movie. 

Prior to the funeral, the Winchester family had planned to meet at Bobby’s house.  Dean stood in Bobby’s study, as full of books and questionable knick-knacks as it had been in their world, though with fewer accounts of monster lore, he was certain.  What the room was lacking in supernatural non-fiction, it made up for in emptied liquor bottles.  Not a whiskey tumbler or flask in sight, it looked like this world’s Bobby took his medicine straight from the bottle.  A wastepaper basket next to the battered desk was overflowing with empty glass bottles and more lined the bookshelves, carrying a much finer layer of dust than the thick tomes behind them. 

Plates of half-eaten sandwiches in varying stages of decomposition were scattered around the room.  The entire place wreaked of old sweat and slow decay.  As Mary, shooting a pained glance at John, began to quietly and efficiently tidy the room, gathering up the molding sandwiches and depositing them into a trash bag Jess had managed to unearth from somewhere, Dean took in the depressing remnants of a life only half-lived and had a sudden visceral memory of seeing a similar scene nearly 8 years ago.  He’d crawled out of his grave after Cas had rescued him from hell and had gone to see Bobby, finding him lost in a sea of empty liquor bottles.  This is what happened when Bobby was left alone, abandoned by the ones he called family. 

In _his_ world, he’d left Bobby behind when he made his demon deal for Sam’s life and Sam had fucked off with that demon-bitch Ruby, neither boy sparing a thought for what that would do to their surrogate father.  Here, Bobby had been alone since losing his wife, his only contact with the Winchesters being summer visits from John and the boys.  Visits that had probably decreased and eventually ended as the boys got older and vacations spent exploring a rusty old salvage yard lost their appeal.  _Fuck._   Bobby had been wasting away, alone in this big, empty house for _years_.  How had he survived even this long?  For the first time, Dean let himself think that maybe Bobby needed Sam and Dean Winchester as much as two lonely boys had needed the crochety old hunter.  And Dean, par for the course, had let him down.

Eyes burning and the stench of the room suddenly overwhelming, Dean’s throat closed up and he found himself unable to draw a full breath.  Pulling back, he retreated toward the door that promised fresh air, even if it was in that god forsaken sunshine.  He felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder as he made his escape, but shook the man off and hightailed it out of the stifling house.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been perched on the hood of the beat up El Camino in the center of the salvage yard when he heard the crunch of boots on gravel and saw his father moving toward him out of the corner of his eye.  He leaned against the hood of Dean’s El Camino, silently passing him a beer as he took a sip from his own.  They sat like that for some time and Dean tried not to remember a different world with a different dead father, where he’d shared dozens of beers like this with the man currently awaiting burial in the morgue downtown.

“Do you remember playing out here as a kid?” John eventually asked, a nostalgic smile gracing his rough features.  “Used to piss Bobby off, he was so worried you’d fall off’a some rust bucket and end up with tetanus or a broken bone, but I couldn’t keep you out of’em, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered after a moment, an unwilling smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Goddamn fool boy,” he said, mimicking Bobby’s affectionate grumble, “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you go and break yer damn neck, ya idjit.” 

John’s laugh is loud and booming in the still of the salvage yard. 

“He may have been a little rough around the edges, but he was a good man.  I’m glad you remember him, son.  He deserves to be remembered.”

Throat too tight for words, Dean nods.

Bobby deserved a whole hell of a lot more than that, but memory’s all Dean’s got now. 

Father and son finished their beers and returned to the house.  A short time later, Dean had donned his borrowed suit and was seated in a Soiux Falls funeral parlor while some well-meaning preacher who’d probably never even met Bobby Singer, let alone understood the uncompromising depth of character of a man who’d built a rag tag family around two boys who had no one else, sang Bobby’s praises and offered empty platitudes about how the man had rejoined the wife he never stopped loving in the great beyond. 

Following the short service, John, Dean, Sam, and Cas acted as pall bearers, carrying Bobby’s closed coffin and loading it in the back of the hearse.  They followed along in the silence of their separate vehicles as the hearse wound its way through the streets of Sioux Falls, to a quiet cemetery on the edge of town.

And so Dean had attended the funeral of his foster father for the second time.  Instead of wrapping Bobby’s body and watching it burn on a hunter’s pyre, he’d watched him be lowered into the ground, laid to rest next to his late wife.  Apparently, some people got a shit deal no matter what world they lived in.

As soon as the funeral was over, Dean turned to Cas where the man was talking quietly with Sam.

“You ready?”

“Of course, Dean.  Are we going back to the hotel, or would you like to go straight home?”

“Back to Lawrence,” Dean says flatly, knowing Cas understood his double meaning.

Hiding the flinch that Dean pretended not to notice, Cas turned to make his goodbyes to Sam as Dean turned to walk back to the Impala.

Behind him, he could hear Sam asking Cas, “Is he okay?  I mean, we barely even knew the guy.”

Cas quietly scolds Sam, “Everyone handles these things in their own way, Sam.”

Dean is suddenly struck with a powerful longing for his little brother, the Sam from _his_ world.  A Sam who wouldn’t need to ask that, who would understand exactly what Bobby Singer meant to him, to _them,_ and who could mourn with Dean.  Just as fast as it came though, the thought retreated.  No.  Dean wouldn’t wish for Sam to go through this a second time.  Losing a man like Bobby Singer once is enough for anyone.

They drove straight through, in silence, even though it was well after dark by the time they got home.  _Back._ To the _apartment._  

***

Pulling himself back to the present with an effort, Dean looks up at Cas, “The-World-Where-Everyone-Lives:  can you name me one _goddamn_ person who deserves it more?  That man never asked anyone for a goddamn thing, Cas!  All he did was give and give, until he had nothing left!”

Dean chokes on his next words, “And when he didn’t have anything left to give, when he’d lost his wife and the love of his goddamn _life_ , he dug deep and he took in two lost boys.  And he gave’em a home.. and a family.  He gave’em _everything_ , Cas.”

Cas lowers himself carefully onto the bed next to Dean, like the other man is a frightened animal that might spook at any moment. 

Scrubbing a hand across red-rimmed eyes, Dean swears, “Fuck, now I’m crying.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas tries to soothe, but Dean cuts him off.

“Hunters don’t cry, goddamn it!”

Cas hesitates for a moment, then says, “I’m not entirely sure that’s true, Dean, but even if it is, you’re not a hunter here are you?”

When Dean looks at him in confusion, he goes on, “ _This_ Dean doesn’t hunt monsters.  _This_ Dean is a mechanic.  He leads a simple life, but a happy one, surrounded by friends and family who love and support him.”  He takes a breath, “Maybe _this_ Dean cries when he loses the man who was a second father to him.  Maybe _this_ Dean lets his _husband_ comfort him.”

It’s too much.  Cas doesn’t know what he’s saying, he can’t, but it’s too much.  Losing Bobby hurt enough the first time.  _No one_ should have to go through that twice.  _No one_ should expect _Dean_ to go through that twice.  Do you fucking hear that Amara?  Suddenly, The-World-Where-Everyone-Lives is now just another world without Bobby Singer and that’s too _goddamn_ much. 

Dean gives in.  His entire goddamn _life_ has been a fight since, _fuck_ , since that night in Sam’s nursery when he was 4-years-old, and Dean’s got nothing left.  A sob breaks loose from his chest and he doesn’t resist as Cas pulls him sideways into an embrace.  He doesn’t know how long Cas holds him for, but eventually he sits up and takes a shuddering breath.

“Wait here,” Cas says softly.  He walks into the bathroom and returns a moment later with a wet washcloth.  Dean’s vaguely aware that he shouldn’t allow this, but he doesn’t put up a fight as Cas wipes the tears (and, gross, snot) from his face.  He then pulls the hunter/mechanic to his feet and unbuttons the dress shirt Dean’s still wearing from the funeral.  Normally, having Cas undressing him like this would have a very specific effect on Dean, but now he just feels tired and heavy with the weight of his grief.  Maybe Cas can carry it for a while.  Cas undresses Dean and then himself, his movements gentle but perfunctory, stripping them both down to their undershirts and boxers, before tucking Dean into his side of the bed.  Turning off the light, Cas climbs into his side of the bed, sliding closer to Dean, but not touching.  He lies on his side, facing Dean, his head propped on his hand.

Dean feels the weight of Cas’ gaze trailing the curves and angles of his face, no less intense for the lack of light.  “I must look like shit,” he says throatily and _Christ._ What, is he a 16-year-old girl now?  Worse, is he _Sam?_  

“Dean,” says Cas seriously, “You are as stunning in your grief as you are in all things, though I will admit, I do prefer you smiling.”

Dean’s suddenly grateful for the darkness, hiding his now crimson face.  “Fuck Cas!  You can’t just _say_ shit like that, man!”

There’s silence for a moment, then he hears Cas whisper, “Maybe _this_ Cas can.”  A moment later he adds, “Goodnight, Dean,” and rolls onto his back.

Dean lies there for several long minutes, before he finally sighs. 

_Maybe this Dean can._

He rolls onto his side, facing away from Cas, then scoots backwards until he’s pressed up against the man’s side.  He flings his right arm behind him, groping blindly until he fists the bottom of Cas’ t-shirt in his hand, tugging the angel-turned-barista toward him.  Cas comes easily, almost as if he expected this (or at the very least, hoped for it), wrapping an arm around Dean’s chest and tangling their legs together. 

Dean’s certain his face couldn’t be any redder, but he falls asleep easily in Cas’ arms.  And if sometime later, he imagines he feels a feather-light kiss against the nape of his neck, no one has to know.

***

Their relationship shifts again after that night.  It’s the first time they fall asleep and wake up tangled together, but it’s far from the last.  At first, it’s practical.  In the nights following Bobby’s funeral, Dean experiences a resurgence in the nightmares that have haunted him since his stint in hell.  This is familiar territory for Dean following the loss of anyone he gives a damn about, he supposes PTSD works that way sometimes, but this time they’re interwoven with images of Bobby drinking himself to death while Dean tortures and breaks souls on the rack, deep within the Pit.  He sees his dream-self letting Bobby down and condemning the man to a life of loneliness and isolation at the bottom of a bottle.  Sometimes it’s the Bobby of his world and in other nightmares it’s the Bobby of this world, pining for his dead wife as a carefree Dean Winchester grows up happy and whole. 

He wakes from his nightmares surrounded by Cas, the other man whispering words of comfort and reassurance as Dean trembles and shakes in his arms. 

As the nightmares recede, their new sleeping arrangement does not.  By now it’s become habit and Dean finds he can’t fall asleep if there isn’t at least some part of him touching Castiel (not that he’s going to ever _admit_ that).  The angel, for his part, seems perfectly content to fall asleep and wake up wrapped around Dean, displaying none of the stress that Dean feels as he tries to discern what this new development means for them.

The thing is, Dean’s not actually oblivious.  In fact, he’s way more self-aware than anyone ever gives him credit for ( _Sam),_ and part of that self-awareness directly involves the angel he’s currently in bed with.  Dean may not be big on feelings, but he does have thoughts and he knows that a lot of those thoughts tend to revolve around brunet sex-hair, blue eyes that hold the history of galaxies, and a wrinkled, too-big trench coat.  He’s even aware that some of those thoughts might include feeling-type _things_ directed toward his best friend (yeah, this passes as self-awareness for Dean).  Dean even realizes that it’s entirely possible these thoughts aren’t one-sided.  He hasn’t missed the fact that Cas doesn’t quite look at anyone else the same way he looks at _Dean_.  He’s not quite sure what that _means_ for the angel, but he’d definitely be interested in finding out. 

As to why he’s never _acted_ on those feeling-type-thoughts: Horsemen, Apocalypse, dick-angels, soulless little brothers, fucking leviathan, Purgatory, the Mark of Cain, take your goddamn pick.  There’s always _something_ in the way, _something_ that has to take precedence over the inconsequential feelings of one lonely hunter and his angel side-kick.  And when there’s _not,_ when things finally start to settle down to the point that Dean thinks maybe, just _maybe_ they can start to figure this thing out between them, Cas fucks-off to Chuck-knows-where and Dean’s left alone, _again,_ with nothing but his goddamn _feelings_ for company. Every.  Fucking.  Time.  Because he’s Dean Winchester and Dean Winchester doesn’t get to have good things.

What he needs is a chance, just one genuine fucking chance for him and Cas to make a go of it, with nothing _else_ getting in the way.  No excuses, no monsters, no world-ending-catastrophes on the goddamn horizon, and nowhere for either of them to run. 

Dean pauses. 

A world with no monsters, no demons, no _angels_ , no goddamn supernatural at all. 

A world where Cas literally _can’t_ fly away from him.

A world that has what Dean needs most.

_Son of a bitch._

***

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Mary greets, curling up next to Dean on Sam and Jess’ sofa the following Sunday.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean answers, shifting to put an arm around his mom and tuck her in close to his side.

Dean’s eyes drift back to the wedding ring he’d been studying in the silence of the darkened living room a moment ago, while the rest of the family finished their dessert and the after-dinner clean-up. 

Following his gaze, Mary comments, “Still doesn’t seem real sometimes, huh?”

Dean snorts, “You could say that.”  He pauses, then adds, “We may have had this conversation before, but what did you think, you and Dad, when I first brought Cas home?”

“What did we think of Cas?  Or what did we think of Cas being a man?” his mother asks shrewdly.

Dean shrugs, “Either.  Both.”

“Well, we loved Cas of course, who wouldn’t?  He was a bit quiet, but polite.  Handsome, charming, sincere,” Mary pauses, looking thoughtful, “but most of all, he seemed to balance you.  Reserved where you were outgoing, serious where you were always the jokester, soft where you had hard edges.  With Cas, it felt like you could still be all of the things you were, but you weren’t _only_ those things.  Your father and I already knew that, of course, but I’m not sure you did.”

“And what about him being a guy?  I guess I still have a hard time believing Dad’s okay with that sometimes, you know?”

Now it’s Mary’s turn to snort, “What?  You mean your father, the big, tough marine?  Sure, it was a bit of a shock at first, but it didn’t take either of us long to realize that Castiel was special.. different from the other people you’d dated in ways that had nothing to do with his being a man and everything to do with his being the right person for you.  He’s your match, Dean.”

Dean blushes, glad for the darkened room, as his mother continues, “Of course, with the string of bimbos you paraded around in the years right before you met Castiel, your father and I were just so relieved you’d finally brought home someone of substance, I’m not sure we would have cared whether they were male, female, or a cactus.”

“Mom!” Dean scolds on a choked laugh, “That’s not very nice.  I’m sure they were all very nice young women.”

“Maybe,” Mary comments drily, “but the cactus would have had a higher IQ, I’m sure of it.”

She sighs, then continues, “Dean, sweetheart, you were so _lost_ before you met Cas.  It’s like you had this image in your head of who you were _supposed_ to be and you were Hell-bent on being that guy, even though it was obvious to everyone that _being_ that guy made you miserable.  When you met Cas, for the first time it seemed like the man you were trying to be, the man you _wanted_ to be, was _you._   Now I’m not saying that you became who were supposed to be because of Castiel.  I don’t think anyone can do that for you but you, but I do think meeting Cas was the first time you actually decided to want something just for yourself, like you finally realized you _deserved_ it.  It’s certainly the first time you actually let yourself have it.  Am I making any sense here?”

Dean nods.  He knows what she means.  Before he’d met Cas, Dean had been little more than John Winchester’s perfect boy soldier.  He’d wanted a different life, even then, but he hadn’t felt like he deserved it.  How had Cas put it?  He didn’t think he deserved to be saved.  And he really hadn’t.  But then he’d met Cas:  the beautiful, defiant angel who’d not only rejected his role as Heaven’s perfect soldier, but had rebelled against Heaven itself and blown their Great-Fucking-Plan to pieces, averting the Apocalypse in the process.  Cas wasn’t the only one who learned free will back then.  Dean’s made a hell of a lot of mistakes since then, but they’re _his_ mistakes.  There’s one he doesn’t have to make again though.  Dean Winchester may not get a lot of good things in his life, but the one good thing he has, the _only_ good thing outside of Sam, is currently sitting in the other room, laughing with his family and eating chocolate mousse.  And maybe Dean’s going to let himself have this.

_Maybe this Dean can._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! At least it ends on a hopeful note, right?
> 
> You reward will be a much longer chapter next week, in which I'll earn that big, red E!


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to turn up the heat on this slow burn!

“One Terrifically Toffee Nut Latte and one turkey club, extra bacon,” Cas announces, depositing Dean’s lunch on the counter in front of him with a flourish.  The former angel has really taken to his role as a barista.  If he didn’t know better, Dean would never believe this gentle man who passes out free cookies and soft smiles to small children with sticky fingers while cheerfully caffeinating their parents used to smite demons with a touch and a glare like icy fire.

On second thought though, there is a distinct resemblance between the protective man whose burning stare and low, gravel-voiced promises of retribution chased away the mid-forties creepo hitting on his 18-year-old coworker yesterday and the avenging angel who razed Hell to deliver a single soul from perdition.  Dean smiles inwardly.  Cas will always be Cas and Dean is grateful for it, not least of all because Castiel set to maximum smite-level is also Cas at maximum hotness-level.

“Thanks, Babe,” Dean says with a grateful kiss to Cas’ cheek.  The barista blushes and smiles shyly, whether in response to the kiss or the endearment, Dean’s not sure.  He’s amped up both since his enlightening conversation with his mom last month and the results have been.. promising.  The affectionate touches between them that had started out cautious and hesitant have now flourished into something as easy and natural as breathing.  They can’t even seem to move past one another without a lingering bicep squeeze, a casual hip bump, or fingers trailing slowly across the small of a back; the last of which makes Dean shiver every single time Cas does it. 

It’s great.

It’s amazing.

It’s _this close_ to perfect.

And Dean’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Despite his adamant decision to let himself have this good thing with Cas, Dean can’t help but constantly look over his shoulder, waiting for the next thing that’s going to try and take this from him.  It’s like the better things with Cas get, the more convinced Dean becomes that it can’t last.  In his defense, nothing ever has before.  It’s why, despite how close they’ve gotten, despite the cuddling, and the hand-holding, and the way Cas’ eyes sometimes drop to Dean’s lips, he still hasn’t kissed Cas.  For once, it’s not even because of some misguided sense of macho bullshit or self-punishing angst.  Dean has the sense that kissing Cas will have one of two results:  it will either make this thing between them _real_ and therefore something he can really lose.. or it will prove that it’s not.  He’s not sure which option terrifies him more.

“God, you two are gross.  I didn’t think you two geezers could get any sappier, but here you are, proving me wrong.”  The snarky voice pulls Dean from his reverie and he glares across the counter at a girl with dark, purple-tipped hair; brown eyes ringed heavily in black liner; and plump lips colored a deep, blood-red that’s almost black.

“Bite me, Emo Barbie,” Dean grumbles into his latte.

“Wouldn’t your husband get jealous?”  quips Alexis, the teenaged barista whose honor Cas had defended to that skeevy-fucking-predator.

Dean pauses.  That’s actually a good question.  _Is_ Cas the jealous type? 

He shrugs, “You’d have to ask him.”

Lexi grins evilly, “I think I will.  Hey Cas!”

Cas walks over from where he’d been clearing tables, raising an expectant eyebrow at Lexi as she asks, “Would you get jealous if I took your hubby here up on his never-ending offers to ‘bite him?’”  She even does the air quotes, which Dean is certain she picked up from Cas.  Fucking kid thinks Cas and his air quotes are cool, but Dean’s just some lame old guy who could be her dad.  Where’s the justice in that?  Cas is literally as old as dirt.  Older than some of it even.

Cas gives Dean a _look_ , before reprimanding him, “Dean, quit asking my coworkers to bite you.”  Turning back to Lexi he narrows his eyes and adds drily, “I nearly ripped the head off the last person to try to bite Dean.  I’ll let you draw your own conclusions from that.” 

Dean snorts into his cup at Cas’s veiled reference to their last vamp hunt and Cas shoots him a smirk as he goes back to wiping down tables like the mild-mannered-barista he definitely isn’t. 

Eyes still on Cas’ retreating back (and maybe a little on his ass, too), Dean’s unhelpful brain plays that sexy smirk back at him again and again.  He doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until Lexi cuts in with a snort.

“You really are pathetic.”

Dean’s about to fire off another witty retort when he’s interrupted by a new voice, “Aww, come on Lexi, I think they’re cute.” 

Janelle, another of Cas’ college-aged coworkers (goddamn kids are fucking everywhere in this town) walks through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist to start her shift.  Her shift will overlap with Lexi’s for the next couple of hours, to cover the lunch rush that’ll start in about 20 minutes.  Then she’ll be on for the rest of Cas’ shift with him, while Lexi clocks out to make it to her 2 o’clock class.  And wow, Dean spends _way_ too much time here if he even has the _other_ employees’ schedules memorized.  He really _is_ pathetic.

“I hope I’m still that cute and in love when I’m their age,” Janelle adds sweetly as slim, brown fingers straighten the band holding back her tight ringlets before she turns to wash her hands at the sink.

Dean rolls his eyes and fights down the blush threatening to overtake his face at mention of the L-word.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” he quips, tossing a twenty onto the counter and joining his husband by the front window.

“I’m gonna head out before the babysitters’ club can invent more new and creative ways to annoy me.  It’s like being surrounded by Sams,” Dean shudders, “except with shorter hair.”

Cas just smiles fondly at the girls behind the counter.  “I like them,” he says, “they remind me of Claire.”

_Stupid, adorable, sweet, protective, fucking terrifyingly hot angel._

“Speaking of,” Dean clears his throat, “we still on for calling them tonight?”

Cas sighs, but nods, “Yes.  I don’t think I can put it off any longer.”

Cas has been understandably hesitant to interact with the Novaks since their discovery that in The-World-Where-Everyone-Lives, he and Jimmy are apparently identical twins.  Ostensibly, Cas has been avoiding Jimmy because who would be more likely to notice a sudden change in personality or behavior than a twin?  Really though, Dean knows it has more to do with the history between Cas and the Novak family of their world.  Cas will _never_ stop feeling guilty for the role he played in destroying the Novak’s happiness and leaving Claire an orphan.  It was necessary and he’s doing everything in his power to do right by Claire now, but necessary doesn’t equal “okay,” and Dean knows there are some things you can’t ever truly make amends for.

He steps in to wrap his arm around the suddenly despondent angel.  “It’ll be okay, Cas.  I’ll be right there, the whole time.”

Cas pulls back and gives him a soft smile, “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes stay riveted to Cas’ lips as the other man notices and licks them self-consciously. 

“Kiss him, already!” 

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin at the shout from the counter and he and Cas both turn blood red as the two college students collapse in a fit of giggles.

“Fucking toddlers,” Dean grumbles as he pushes his way out the door, chased by a chorus of giggles and kissing noises.

***

For a moment, Dean thinks he’s about to feel the weight of that other lead boot he’s been waiting for during their planned phone conversation with the Novak family later that evening.

The conversation with Jimmy actually goes just fine.  Cas is a little stiff and hesitant at first, but quickly warms up in response to Jimmy’s easy laughter and open demeanor.  They talk briefly about Jimmy and Amelia’s recent cruise to the Bahamas and Claire’s most recent award ceremony at school.  Dean might be mistaken, but it seems to bring Cas a sense of peace to know that there’s at least one world where the Novak’s get to be the happy family they always should have been.  After Cas inquires politely about Jimmy’s work in radio advertisement, the other twin (and man, is that weird to think about) returns the question, asking how Cas is liking his new job as a barista.

Finally having a topic on which he can really contribute, Cas talks exuberantly about his experiences at The Busy Bean.  He even describes his collection of college-aged colleagues, ending with the ever-irritating, yet oddly endearing Lexi.

“I have one co-worker, Alexis, whom I work with most weekdays.  She’s 18 and sometimes she reminds me so forcefully of Claire that I have to actually look twice to make sure it’s not her standing there.”

“Ouch,” Jimmy replies jokingly, “that bad, huh?”

“YES,” butts in Dean from were he’s listening in on speaker.

Jimmy laughs warmly and comments, “I’m really glad you’re liking the new job, Cas.  I know you were nervous when the firm closed down, but honestly, I was relieved to see you leave accounting.”

“Why is that?” Cas asks, curiously.  Dean leans in to hear Jimmy’s answer.  It’s always interesting learning more about the Dean and Cas who were here before.

“You just never really seemed to enjoy it.  I think you’ve just told me more about that coffeeshop you’ve worked at for a couple of months than I heard about the accounting firm you were with for six years.”

After a short, contemplative pause, he adds, “You’re way too much of a people person to be shut up in a cubicle with nothing but numbers for company all day.”

Dean and Cas gape at one another.

“Cas?” comes Jimmy’s voice over the phone a minute later.  “Did I lose you?”

“No, I’m still here,” says Cas slowly, “I guess I just never really considered myself good with people.”

At this, Jimmy’s laugh spills over the line, “Oh, _God no!_   That’s not what I meant.  No, man, you _suck_ at people.  You just happen to really like them anyway.”  And that’s such a perfect description of Cas that Dean can’t help his broad grin.

Cas glowers at him.

Dean’s grin gets bigger.

“I think I’d like to speak with my niece now,” Cas grouses into the phone and Jimmy snorts in response.

“Yeah, just because you know I’m right and you don’t have a comeback.  Claire!  Your uncle wants to talk to you!” Jimmy calls out and a moment later makes his goodbyes to Cas and Dean as Claire comes to take the phone.

“Hey, Uncle Cas,” she greets brightly, “what’s up?”

“Hello, Claire,” Cas answers before adding, “Dean’s here with me as well.”

“Hey there, Tay Swift, what’s shakin’?”  Dean asks, taking a chance that sarcasm is a language universal to all worlds where Claire Novak is concerned.

“Eat me, Hasselhoff,” his suspicion is confirmed.

“Aww, what’s wrong, got teardrops on your guitar?  Well you know what they say, those hater’s gon’ hate, hate, hate.  You just shake it off, Claire-Bear.”  Dean grins.  This may be his only chance to be an uncle and he’s going to enjoy every minute.

“Gross.  Don’t call me that,” Claire grouses.

“Why not?  Cause now we’ve got bad blood?”  Dean asks cheekily.

“Are we gonna talk about how many Taylor Swift songs you know, Winchester?”  Claire counters and Dean can actually _see_ the teen smirking at him through the phone.

“That’s, _Uncle Dean_ , to you, young lady,” he says primly, ignoring Cas’ snort next to him.

“I am _never_ going to call you that, so you may as well give it up,” Claire retorts.

“Caaaas, make her be nice to me,” Dean whines and Cas rolls his eyes before continuing his conversation with the teenaged menace. 

The two talk about Cas’ new job and Claire’s schooling for a few minutes until Claire suddenly asks, seemingly apropos of nothing, “What’s going on?  Something’s.. different about you.”

Dean looks up at Cas and sees his own panicked expression mirrored back at him. 

When neither man speaks for a moment, Claire adds smugly, “And don’t lie to me.  I can tell when you’re lying.”

After another moment, Cas shrugs and says, “You’re right.  Dean and I aren’t actually your uncles.  We were sent here from a parallel universe and are now stranded with no way to return to our own world.  We’ve been posing as the Dean and Castiel Winchester of this world for the past two months.”

Dean stares, dumbfounded, at Cas for a full 20 seconds before mouthing, _What the fuck?!_

Cas opens his mouth to say who-the-fuck-can-even-guess-what-at-this-point, when Dean hears a snort from the phone. 

“Sure.  Funny, old man.  You got dad jokes and you’re not even a dad yet.”  Her eye roll is practically audible.

Dean starts to relax when she suddenly adds, “Speaking of which, when _am_ I going to become the world’s coolest older cousin?  This only-child shtick got old about a decade ago.”

Dean’s wide eyes meet Cas’ across the phone lying on the dining room table between them and he manages to squeak out, “Okay, gotta go now.  Nice talking to you, Claire.”

Claire’s vindictive laugh rings out across the line until Dean disconnects the call and slumps against the table.

“That was.. something,” Cas comments from where he’s sitting across from Dean, head tilted against the backrest, looking a little dazed.

“We’re not really your uncles, we’re from a parallel universe,” Dean echoes at him incredulously.  “Really?”

“It worked.”  Cas shrugs again and Dean nods in concession. 

“Man, I really thought the other shoe was gonna drop for a second there though,” Dean sighs in relief.

Cas’ forehead crinkles in confusion as he asks, “The other shoe?”

“Yeah, you know, things have been.. good lately.  Like, really good,” Dean amends.

Cas smiles, “They have been, yes.”

“Yeah, so, I guess a part of me keeps waiting for it to all, you know, fall apart.”

Cas frowns, “Why would it ‘fall apart?’”

Ignoring the air quotes, Dean tries to explain his messed-up head space to Cas, “I don’t know, man.  When hasn’t it _?_ When have we _ever_ got to keep something good?”

Cas is about to respond, but Dean interrupts, pushing on frantically, “What if.. what if we lose all this?” He gestures around them.

“What if it’s not even real?” he whispers, voicing his greatest fear.

“Dean, I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Cas says softly.

“How do I know that any of this,” Dean gestures wildly around them, “is real?  What if this is all just some kind of mirage, or delusion, or some crazy Djinn dream?”

“Djinn dream?” Cas asks as if Dean hadn’t just said that very thing.

“Yeah.  I mean it all fits right?  A world with no supernatural?  Where I get to spend my days working on classic cars instead of hunting monsters, there are no demons or feathered dicks to fuck with us, Sammy’s a goddamn lawyer, and my family’s still alive?  What else could it be?”  Dean shrugs.

“Djinn build the perfect world based on your fantasies and deepest desires, Dean.  If this were a Djinn dream-world, everything in it would be designed to fulfill your greatest wish.”

“I know how Djinn work, Cas,” Dean responds with a roll of his eyes.

Cas looks suddenly nervous, but he continues, “Dean, in this world, you and I are a couple.  We’re married.”  He hesitates before finishing, “Lovers.”

Dean freezes.  Leave it to Cas to point out the glaringly obvious conclusion that somehow managed to bypass Dean, only to back over him with all the finesse of a goddamn Mack truck.  Well, fuck it.  He’s come this far.

“I said I know how Djinn work, Cas,” he says softly, not quite meeting Cas’ eyes.

“Oh,” is Cas’ only response.

Dean’s eyes snap up to meet the cobalt gaze of the former angel, searching for a life line.  Cas’ expression is unreadable for a moment, then a small, nervous smile flickers at the corners of his lips.  It’s a tremulous, fledgling thing, but it’s there and it’s real and Dean returns it in kind.

They sit there, staring at one another like goddamn idiots for who-the-fuck-know-how-long, until Cas speaks again, “Be that as it may, Dean, I can promise you, this is no Djinn dream.”

“How do you know?”  Dean whispers.

Cas stands and walks around to Dean’s side of the table, pulling the other man to his feet and looking him in the eye.

“Because,” he answers gravely, “if a world were created to fulfill the most earnest and heartfelt desires of Dean Winchester, it is simply inconceivable that Bobby Singer wouldn’t be alive to be part of it.”

Dean swallows heavily as tears swarm his eyes.  He feels the stab of grief for Bobby, followed by a rush of something warmer for the angel standing in front of him.

Unaware that he’s moving until he feels Cas’ skin underneath his fingers, Dean grips the other man by the elbows and pulls him flush against his own body.  Cas’ hands flutter uncertainly before landing cautiously on Dean’s hips, fingers clutching reflexively at the hem of Dean’s shirt.  Blue eyes look up into green and Dean can hear the catch in Cas’ breath just as surely as he can feel it in his own. 

_Maybe this Dean can._

_Maybe I can too._

Lifting one shaking hand to cup Castiel’s cheek, Dean swallows before asking, “Can I..”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the question before Cas’ dry lips are pressing against his own.  The kiss is a little uncoordinated at first.  Noses bump and Cas starts to pull away in embarrassment before Dean reels him back in with a hand at the small of his back.  It’s the tiny imperfections that reassure Dean the most.  This is _real._   In a Djinn dream, every kiss would be perfect, every touch designed to bring the maximum pleasure.  This is hesitant, and nervous, and messy.  Dean pushes forward, opening his mouth and parting Cas’ lips with his tongue.  Cas opens willingly to Dean and plays the pupil for only a moment before pushing his own tongue across the threshold of Dean’s lips.  Dean releases a soft moan as Cas runs his hands upward from the hunter’s hips, until he’s hooked them around the backs of Dean’s shoulders, like he’s determined to hold the man there forever. 

Dean thinks he could live with that.

***

Dean would happily behead every vamp; salt and burn every dry sack of bones; and gank every shifter, werewolf, and wendigo he’s ever hunted all over again if he knew it meant getting to kiss Castiel at the end of it.  Kissing Cas has to be one of his favorite new hobbies, which is saying something, because Dean has a number of new hobbies, all of which also involve the ex-angel.  Cas kisses with the same level of passion and intensity he uses when smiting a demon, terrifying would-be-barista-harassers, or glaring at Dean for leaving his socks right next to the hamper.  He kisses Dean like Dean’s the center of his entire universe, like nothing has ever or will ever be as important as the feel of Dean’s tongue in his mouth right this goddamn minute. Making out with Cas is hot, and sweet, and.. fun.

Dean hasn’t had this much _fun_ just making out with someone since high school.  Well, not since Cassie actually, now that he thinks about it.  He can’t seem to get enough of Cas:  his touch, his mouth, his body.  Gentle touches on the back have become kisses to the back of the neck as they lean past one another to reach into the kitchen cabinet for their morning coffee mugs.  An affectionate shoulder squeeze on Dean’s way out the door in the morning has turned into a 5-minute goodbye kiss.  Cuddling on the couch while watching Star Trek reruns recently devolved into an impromptu make-out session. 

Well, maybe it’s not _just_ making out that’s fun, Dean reflects.  He and Cas both got to go “where no man has gone before,” during their couch session.  Dean remembers Cas’ body stretched out beneath his as the two traded kisses, rutting against one another as their cocks hardened inside the soft sweatpants they liked to lounge around the apartment in.  Cas’ shirt had started to ride up and unable to resist the call of more skin, Dean pushed it up the rest of the way, bending down to kiss his way across Cas’ chest before pausing to lick and suck at a dusky nipple. 

“Dean,” Cas had moaned, then whimpered as Dean nipped at the sensitive bud between his teeth, “please.” 

“What do you need, Cas?”

“Just,” Cas canted his hips upward helplessly against Dean’s erection, making both men groan, “just.. touch me, please.”

Hands only slightly shaking, Dean had fumbled both of their sweats down around their hips and he and Cas had moaned and writhed together as they stroked one another to completion.  Afterwards, Dean had collapsed on top of the angel in yet another kiss, feeling hot all over again at the thought of his come mixing with Cas’ on their stomachs between them.

A few days later, Dean had given his first ever blow job when Cas had walked into their bedroom fresh from the shower and wearing only a towel.  He’d pushed the angel-turned-barista onto their bed and unwrapped him from that towel like it was fucking Christmas and Dean had been a _very_ good boy.  Cas had been solid and heavy in his mouth and tasted salty on his tongue and Dean fucking loved every goddam minute of it, because the sounds Cas made as Dean had inexpertly sucked him were out of _this_ fucking world and all the others too.  He’d finished Cas with his hand and not his mouth that first time, but Cas hadn’t seemed to mind, looking at Dean like he’d never seen something so perfect in his umpteen-billion years of angelic existence.

Dean savors those memories now, reminding himself of the feel and taste of Castiel’s body, because the knowledge of that reward is the _only_ thing that’s going to get Dean through this fucking god-awful, _awkward_ conversation.

As much as Dean has loved everything he and Cas have done together, there’s still something else he wants with Cas, but he’s been unsure how to broach the subject.  Everything else they’ve done together has seemed to come as a sort of natural progression, but _this_ takes a little more forethought and.. preparation.  Dean was actually considering the absolute _horror_ of actually just breaking down and _asking_ Castiel for what he wanted, when the blessed man had seemingly solved all of Dean’s problems by doing it for him.  Thank Chuck for angels with no concept of human embarrassment who can just look at their partner and announce, with a perfectly straight face, “Dean, I think I’d like to try penetrative sex with you.”  Yes, Dean had thanked his lucky stars for Cas’ complete and total lack of human subtlety.

And then _this_ conversation happened.

“So, umm, how do you wanna do this, exactly?”  Dean internally rolls his eyes at himself.  _Smooth, Winchester._

“Do you mean, which position would I like to assume for our first time having penetrative sexual intercourse?” 

Leave it to Cas to cut right to the goddamn chase.

“Yeah, I do, but don’t call it, _sexual intercourse,_ for fuck’s sake.”

Cas raises his eyebrows, “Okay.  Would you prefer ‘making love?’”

“You know what?  Intercourse is good.  I’m good with intercourse.”  Dean’s face heats up and _fuck, could this be anymore awkward?_

Cas considers this question with the same gravity Dean thinks he probably displayed when helping to shape the goddamn continents and finally replies, “I think I’d like our first time to be as different from my last sexual experience as possible, so I’d prefer to be the receiver.”

Dean cringes.  Cas’ last sexual experience ended with torture and a blade through his chest.  No shit he wants this time to be different.

“First of all,” Dean starts, “This is already gonna be different from last time, Cas, because this time it’s you and me.  And, you know, that means.. something.”  _Fuck_ , Dean is bad at this.  “Not to mention, I’m not gonna run you through with a goddamn angel blade when we’re finished.”

“Romantic,” Cas replies drily.

“Hey, I’m trying here, okay?”  Dean defends.  “And second,” Dean’s lips quirk and he suppresses a grin, “It’s not called being the _receiver,_ Cas.  It’s not a football position and if it was, it’d definitely be called a tight end.”  Dean waggles his eyebrows at his own joke.  Cas looks unimpressed.

He rolls his eyes, “Sexual innuendo is littered with sports metaphors Dean.  Completing sexual intercourse with another person is often referred to as, ‘scoring,’ and my understanding is there’s a very complex metaphor involving baseball that is somehow far more complicated than the actual game itself.  What is ‘third base’ anyway?”

“Wow, are we gonna have to work on your dirty talk.  Don’t worry about baseball.” Dean’s not even going to _try_ to explain “pitchers” and “catchers.” 

“The word you’re looking for is _bottom._   The person on the receiving end of sex is called the _bottom_ and the other person is the _top.”_

Now Cas just looks confused.  “But, that doesn’t make any sense.  The ‘bottom’ as you call them, might not actually be on the bottom at all.  For example, if I were ‘riding’ you, I would actually be on top.  How does that not lead to confusion?”

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Dean’s mouth goes dry as he’s hit with a sudden image of Cas riding him, head thrown back in ecstasy, fingers clutching Dean’s waist in a bruising grip. 

After several long moments, he shakes his head and responds to Cas, “What, you know _ride_ , but you don’t know _bottom?”_

Cas shrugs nonchalantly, “’Bottom’ didn’t come up in any of the pornography I used for research.  I saw several videos, however, in which one participant begged another to ‘ride my cock.’”

Dean swallows.  Cas is going to fucking kill him before they even get to the fucking part. 

“Okay, fine.  _Receiver_ it is.  You be the _receiver,”_ Dean _just_ manages not to roll his eyes, “and I’ll be the.. other one.”

Cas opens his mouth and Dean cuts in loudly, “It doesn’t need a name!”

They stare awkwardly at each other for a moment and Dean’s wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to salvage the moment after _that_ when Cas takes the direct route for the win once again.

“Dean, I think I would like you to start kissing me now.”

Well, Dean can certainly do that.

He scoots toward Cas on the sofa (Dean’s _really_ developing a fondness for this sofa) and takes Cas’ face in his hands, kissing him softly.  Like most of Cas’ kisses, it doesn’t stay soft for long.  The kiss heats up as his impatient bastard of a husband thrusts his tongue into Dean’s desperate mouth.  Cas raises up with one knee propped up on the sofa while his other foot is on the floor, allowing him to loom over Dean.  He grips the hem of Dean’s shirt in his hands and lifts it over his head as he goes, tossing it carelessly over the back of the couch before leaning down and plundering Dean’s mouth without quarter or mercy. 

“Yours too,” Dean gasps out when he’s able to get his angel’s tongue out of his mouth for two goddamn seconds, tugging on the hem of Cas’ t-shirt.  Cas complies immediately, leaning back to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, revealing his long, toned torso to the Dean’s heated gaze.  Deans eyes trail down the naked expanse of Cas’ chest and stomach, stopping when he reaches where his hands currently rest on Cas hipbones, still partially hidden by the waistband of his jeans.

“Bedroom,” Dean says sharply, jumping up and pulling Cas to his feet before he can strip the man bare and fuck him right here over the back of the sofa.  That’s definitely happening _sometime_ , but for now, their first time: bed.

Once they reach the bedroom, Dean turns to face Cas, not breaking eye contact as he unbuckles the man’s belt and shoves his jeans and boxers down until they drop the rest of the way to floor.  Smirking, Cas reaches to return the favor, but instead of just shoving Dean’s pants down, he drops to the floor with them, licking a long stripe up Dean’s cock as soon as his knees hit the ground.  Dean hisses and fists his hands in Cas’ hair as the man takes his cock in his mouth and begins sucking and bobbing his head.  Cas has made a goddamn study of giving head since they started this a couple of weeks ago and he’s made a lot of progress in a short amount of time.  In minutes, he’s got Dean nearly trembling with the need to come and as much as Dean wants to, that is not the play they discussed.

Pulling gently on Cas hair, Dean moans.  “Fuck, Sweetheart.  Not that I’m not really fucking enjoying this right now, but if you wanna do what we talked about earlier, you gotta stop that.”

Cas pulls off with an audible pop and leans back on his knees, looking up at Dean with no sign of the nerves the other man is feeling, face open and so goddamn trusting when he asks, “How do you want me?”

The question sounds so innocent and goddamn dirty at the same time it nearly makes Dean whimper.

“Lie on your back, on the bed,” he whispers hoarsely.

As Cas moves to the bed, Dean fumbles in the nightstand drawer for the new bottle of lube he had recently purchased for just this occasion.  He’d tossed the half-used bottle he’d found in the drawer a couple of months ago.  At the time, he’d never expected to need it.  Plus, even if they’re technically _you,_ using another couple’s lube is just, ew.

Opening the lube with a quiet click, Dean looks up and meets Cas’ eyes, seeing a trace of the nerves he’d expected earlier.  He slides up the bed next to Cas and cups the man’s face in his hand, kissing him gently, but deeply. 

“I got you, Cas,” he says quietly, “just relax.”

Cas smiles and relaxes back into the pillows as Dean moves back down the bed.  Dean pours out a moderate amount of lube, then caps the bottle and hands it to Cas.

“Keep this nearby in case we need more,” he advises.  Cas nods and sits the bottle next to him, where it won’t be in the way, but will still be in easy reach.

Dean rubs his hands together, coating them both in the cool lube and taking a moment to let it warm up  before slipping one lubed hand around Cas’ semi-hard cock.  Cas groans at the sensation and his cock quickly fills the rest of the way as Dean strokes him with one hand, while fondling the angel’s balls with his other.

Once Cas is fully hard and suitably distracted, Dean trails the hand caressing his lover’s balls down between the man’s legs, until he feels finger drag across Cas’ hot, tight pucker.  Cas gasps and Dean shushes him, keeping a slow, but steady rhythm on Cas’ cock.  He rubs his finger gently across Cas’ hole at first, tracing small circles that gradually increase in pressure. 

Knowing he wanted their sex life to reach this place eventually and wanting to be prepared for both how being opened-up felt as well as how to make it good for Cas, Dean had done his own internet research on the subject and had even practiced on himself a couple of times while Cas was still at work.  Now, he thinks back to what he had enjoyed and repeats the same movements on his husband.

Cas’ breathing picks up speed and he begins to squirm at Dean’s teasing.

“Dean,” he groans and Dean is quick to soothe him.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.”  Dean tightens his loose grip on Cas cock slightly as he inserts the tip of a finger into Cas’ entrance.  Cas starts to tense up, but Deans soothes him back down.

“Just relax, Sweetheart.  Breathe for me.”

Cas does as asked and Dean’s finger suddenly slips in to the second knuckle.  Cas jumps and cants his hips forward, shoving his cock through the tightened ring of Dean’s fist and making him moan at the dual sensations.  Dean is riveted.

“That’s it, Baby,” he murmurs.  “Do that again.  Fuck my fist for me.”

Cas eagerly complies, fucking up into Dean’s fist and then rocking down onto his finger.  Dean urges him on as Cas takes his finger all the way in, his breaths turning to ragged pants.

Dean removes his hand from Cas cock momentarily to slow the man’s pace as he adds a second finger, then resumes his grip and begins scissoring his fingers, opening him up in earnest as the man goes back to fucking Dean’s fist and fucking himself on Dean’s fingers.  As he feels Cas’ rim loosening even more, Dean angles his fingers inside, searching.  It takes him a minute to find the right angle, but then Cas rocks his ass down against Dean’s hand and lets out a shout as prostate comes in contact with Dean’s fingers. 

“Oh, Fuck yeah, Baby,” Dean says, his own breathing ragged and desperate just from watching Cas.

“How does that feel?”

“Feels so good, Dean,” Cas nearly sobs.  “Fuck!”

Dean’s dick leaps at hearing his angel swear and he needs to be inside his husband 10 goddamn minutes ago.  He’s got three fingers inside Cas now and he hopes the man’s ready for Dean’s cock soon, because he’s not sure how much more of this either of them can take.

“Fuck, Cas, you look so good like this.  Fucking yourself on my fingers.  Fuck, I can’t wait to get my cock in you, Sweetheart.”

Cas moans and Dean babbles on, “We’re gonna do this the other way around too, Sweetheart.  Can’t wait to feel your fingers in me, filling me up.  Wanna feel your cock in me too, Cas.  Never thought I’d want that with anyone, but I do.  Want that with you so goddamn bad, Castiel.”

This time Cas does let out a sob and Dean asks, “Are you ready, Babe?  Ready for me?”

“Yes, Dean.  Please,” Cas begs, “Need you.”

Dean obliges, positioning a pillow beneath Cas’ hips and asking the man to pour some more lube on his hand before slicking himself up and lining his leaking cock up with Cas’ waiting heat.

Dean’s pushes past Cas’ rim in one swift movement, then pauses.  His thighs shake with the strain, but he won’t risk hurting Cas.  Inch by inch, he presses himself in deeper, until his hips are flush against Cas’s ass.  They both let out a relieved sigh as they pause to adjust to this new feeling of one another. 

After a few long moments, Cas grinds out a tight, “Move, Dean,” and Dean begins to rock himself in and out of Cas’ body.  He keeps his thrusts slow and steady at first, wanting to give Cas time to adjust to the sensation.  Once Cas begins to actively rock back against Dean, moaning and thrusting himself onto Dean’s cock, he picks up speed.  Cas moans as Dean hammers into him, the sounds of flesh smacking against flesh echoing in their bedroom.  Feeling his climax beginning to build, Dean slows for a moment to change his position, hoisting one of Cas legs up and sitting up to pound into him from a new angle. 

A couple thrusts later and Dean knows he’s found the right angle as Cas gasps out a strangled, “Fuck!” when Dean hits his prostate.  Repeatedly nailing a partner’s prostate turns out to be a lot harder than it looks in porn though, and Dean only manages it on about every third or fourth thrust.  Cas isn’t complaining though.  He’s too busy letting out a tangled litany of “Dean, fuck, please,” as a myriad of changing emotions flit across his face.  Dean fixates on Cas flushed face as he continues to thrust into him.  He can’t believe he ever thought Cas stoic and unemotional.  Every twitch of his lips and flutter of his eyelashes holds a hundred different feelings and right now they all telegraph the fact that Cas is climbing toward release. 

Dean wants to get his hand on Cas, but he has no illusions that he can manage that kind of coordination his first time out of the gate and instead rasps out, “Touch yourself, Sweetheart.”

Cas obeys, reaching down to stroke his own cock.  Watching Cas touch himself is almost enough to push Dean over the edge, but he manages to hold off.  A few strokes later, Cas comes with a loud moan and Dean feels the man’s ass clenching around him.  _That_ does push Dean over and his hips stutter as he folds over top of his angel, filling the man up.

After pulling out, he collapses on his side next to Cas, peppering his husband’s sweaty shoulder with kisses as they both pull in sated breaths.

When he feels reasonably certain he can form sentences again, Dean huffs a laugh and asks, “So Cas, are you still gonna respect me in the morning?”

“Are you going to try to impale me on my own angel blade?”

“Mmmm.. depends,” Dean slurs, “You gonna engage in any pre- or post-coital discussions of my daddy issues?”

Cas rolls his eyes at the reference to that ill-fated brothel trip early in their acquaintance.  “In my defense, I’ll remind you that visiting that.. establishment, was not my idea.  Plus, I’m fairly certain my people skills have improved since then.”

“Hmm.. that’s true,” Dean concedes, going in for a gentle kiss, “the Lifetime Channel has served you well.”

Cas returns Dean’s kiss, but increases the intensity, pressing the mechanic into the pillows and kissing him long and dirty.  Dean feels his dick make a valiant effort to perk up, but Dean’s pushing 40 and he just came 10 minutes ago.

Drawing a ragged breath, he looks up at his angel, “I don’t think you learned _that_ from the Lifetime Channel.”

“No,” Cas answers, grinning wickedly and Dean’s eyes widen, then narrow in realization.

“Don’t you fucking say it!” he warns.

“I learned _that_ from the pizza man.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait! To be honest, I like the first kiss scene better than the smut in this chapter, but that might be because it's one of the first 3 scenes I wrote for this fic, so I'm partial to it.
> 
> Only one more chapter and a short epilogue left!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter!
> 
> This chapter contains the first scene I wrote for this fic and it's kind of my favorite. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“Sooo, Jess and I have an announcement to make.”

Dean looks up from his sister-in-law’s meatloaf and pauses, mid-chew, to stare at his floppy-haired brother.  There are only a handful of things that could follow a statement like that and Dean knows which one he’s hoping for.

As the entire family looks on with baited breath, Sam, sporting his most shit-eating grin, declares, “We’re going to be parents!”

Mary squeals and throws her arms around a beaming Jess, while a proud John stands to wrap his over-sized son in a back-thumping hug.  Dean swallows his mouthful of meatloaf and stands with his husband, waiting their turn to congratulate the expectant couple once the grandparents-to-be can be pried away.

“Congratulations, Sammy. ‘M proud of you,” Dean mumbles into Sam’s ridiculously flowing hair as he hugs his baby brother, the goddamn hippy. 

“You’re gonna be an amazing dad.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam grins and turns to accept his congratulatory hug from Cas as Dean scoops the momma-to-be into his arms.

“You sure you’re ready for a baby Sasquatch _?”_ Dean jokes as he crushes Jess to him.  “Better hope it’s a boy, since Sam already uses more mousse than most teenage girls.”

Jess just grins and squeezes Dean back.  “At least if it’s a girl, we know she’ll have amazing hair,” she quips.

The rest of the evening is spent discussing due dates, baby names, and nursery themes.  The entire experience is one Dean never thought he’d have and it’s more than a little surreal.  He commits as much of it as he can to memory, already knowing this is a moment he never wants to forget.

He feels the same way about most of what’s happened in the past few months.  As summer had given way to September, he and Cas had settled more fully into their lives here, although they weren’t quite ready to let go of their lives from before, either.  As “their” anniversary had neared, Dean had struggled to think of an appropriate gift for his husband.  Cas already had a ring, of course, because they were married here, but that was a ring the _other_ Dean had bought for _his_ Castiel.  It was stupid, but Dean wanted Cas to have something from _him._  

He had stressed about it so much in the two weeks leading up to September 18th, Cas had started giving him anxious looks that from anyone else might have indicated “mild concern,” but for his angel meant “frantic worry.”   Dean couldn’t help it though.  What the hell did you give a guy that could adequately convey, “Hey, thanks for pulling me out of Hell, putting up with my dumbass since then, and oh yeah, maybe putting up with my dumbass for the rest of my dumbass life, which in this world might _actually_ be a while, since for once, nothing is actively trying to kill me.”

In the end, he had settled on a simple bracelet that had caught his eye and made him think of Cas.  It was made of three, overlapping braided strands of dark brown leather, with a single silver feather in the center.  It hadn’t cost much, which had worried Dean at first, until he remembered how much Cas had loved that hideous, beat up Lincoln Continental pimp mobile he’d had back in their world and figured that his husband wasn’t one to be impressed by flashy, expensive jewelry anyway.

He’d still stumbled over his words as he’d given Cas the bracelet though, mumbling nonsense like, “it’s not anything, really,” and, “didn’t even cost that much.”  For one terrifying moment, as Cas had rubbed a thumb across the silver feather in silent contemplation, Dean had thought he’d made a terrible mistake.  Maybe Cas wouldn’t _want_ to wear a constant reminder of his angelic background; a reminder of everything he had _lost_ when he’d been trapped here with Dean.  Dean had sat there, barely breathing through his panic, until Cas had locked those intense blue eyes on him and asked in a quiet voice, “Dean, why did you choose _this_ gift?”

Having no idea how to answer, Dean opened his mouth, and to his shock the words just spilled out, “Look Cas, I know you lost a lot when we got stranded here.  You were a friggin’ angel of the Lord and now you’re just a barista married to a mechanic in some shit town in Kansas.  I just wanted you to know that even though you’re stuck here, in this human body, there’s at least one person who _sees_ the whole you.”

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but Dean cut him off before he could lose his nerve, “And I, uh, I also wanted you to know that I’m not just here, with you, because these are the lives Amara dumped us into.  I’m here because of _you,_ Cas:  _you_ the angel, _you_ the barista, _you_ the pain in my ass that still doesn’t rinse the goddamn sink out after he shaves.  I just.. I want you Cas.  I need you.”

Cas opened his mouth again, then closed it.  Instead, he fastened the bracelet around his left wrist and took Dean’s hand, leading his husband to their bedroom where he stripped them both until they were completely nude, save their wedding bands and the new bracelet.  Cas pressed Dean down into their bed, where he took the mechanic apart piece by piece, whispering love and endearments into the hunter’s skin like he could make the words a part of Dean.  Maybe he could, Dean thought.  He’d certainly never believed them more than he did that night, as his husband moved inside him until they both came, breathless and trembling. 

Now, Dean watches Cas with one hand gracefully steering his absolute embarrassment of a car, posture relaxed, elbow propped carelessly on the door (Yeah, he let Cas drive, okay?  Since they live right above Cas’ place of employment, he doesn’t get the chance to drive his car very often, aside from quick trips to the grocery store, and even a goddamn Civic deserves to hit the open road every once in a while.)  He sees the light from a passing car glint off the silver feather on Cas’ bracelet and his mind is filled with new opportunities and possibilities.. possibilities that Dean really shouldn’t examine too closely just yet.

Seeing Cas pet the steering wheel with a small, nostalgic smile and, he quirks a knowing grin.  “You’re thinking about that ugly-ass Continental, aren’t you?”

Cas squints a glare at him and raises a challenging eyebrow, “She was a fine vehicle, Dean.”

Dean turns his face to the window to hide his grin.

_Goddamn adorable husband._

_***_

“What’s on your mind?” Cas asks warmly later that night, snaking his arms around Dean’s waist and squeezing lightly.

“Do you ever wonder,” Dean pauses, “if _they_ thought about it?  The whole kids thing I mean, like Sam and Jess.  They could, you know, here.”

Unsurprisingly, Cas sees right through Dean, to what he’s really asking.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice radiating warmth and affection, and a little sadness too, “I think that definitely falls outside of our agreement to avoid making any major changes to _this_ Cas and Dean’s lives.  So far, it might be a little.. disorienting, but this world’s Dean and Castiel could easily step back into their lives and pick up where they left off before our arrival.  Starting a family though.. I’m not sure we can make a choice like that for someone else.”

He lets go of Dean, turning the man to face him, and now Dean can see the regret in his husband’s eyes as he adds, “And what about us, Dean?  Could you really bring a child into our lives and develop that kind of attachment, only to risk never seeing them again when we’re sent back to our world?”

Dean rolls his eyes, “I don’t mean _now_ , Cas.  Just.. someday, maybe.” 

He pauses, then adds softly, “Besides, it’s been _months._ I think it’s time to consider the fact that we may _never_ get back to our world.”

“Ehhhhhh, about that.. maybe hold that thought.”

Dean and Cas both start and spin around at the sound of _that_ voice behind them.

“Chuck?” Cas says carefully.

“Hey guys,” says Chuck, with his usual disarmingly nervous smile.

Dean feels his heart sink to his feet and reaches for Cas’ hand, which his husband takes and squeezes reassuringly.

“What are you doing here?”  asks Dean roughly.

“I’ve come to correct Amara’s.. intereference here.  It seems my sister and I still have some work to do when it comes to respecting boundaries.”  He looks at the two men apologetically, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.  I only recently learned that Amara sent you here.”

“What, you mean my suddenly disappearing from right in front of you wasn’t a goddamn clue?” Dean asks incredulously.

“She said she sent you home!” Chuck protests.  “And I guess, in a way, she did.  I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.  Relationship-building takes _trust,_ Dean,” Chuck lectures.

Dean just gapes, open-mouthed.

Recovering first, Cas continues Dean’s train of thought, “But why now?  How did you find out we were here?”

“I heard Dean’s prayer,” Chuck answers simply and Dean feels his face heat as he remembers the prayer he made just last night, as he watched his husband sleeping peacefully in their bed, his angular features softened in the pale light of the moon through their bedroom window.

 

_Chuck, you may have fucked up a lot of things, and I mean A LOT of things, man.. but thank you for Castiel._

If Cas is shocked by the thought of Dean praying, he doesn’t show it.  Instead, he focuses that squinty-eyed glare on Chuck, like he could smite the Creator himself if he stared hard enough. 

“I was under the impression that you hadn’t been listening to prayers for some time now, let alone answering them,” he says flatly. 

Take that, Chuck, you asshole.

“At least, that was the impression I received when you ignored my _repeated_ attempts at prayer when Dean and I were first stranded here,” he adds, and Dean gapes. 

“Wait,” he holds up a hand and looks at Cas, “You _prayed?”_ Dean has so many questions.  Cas has been _praying_?  When?  And for how long?  Why did he stop?  Was it because he finally gave up hope that rescue was coming.. or was it because he, like Dean, kind of stopped wanting to be rescued?

Cas gives him a gentle smile before explaining, “Several times in our first month here, when we were still searching for a way back.  Eventually though, I found things in this world that seemed to warrant.. further exploration, so I stopped.”

Dean smiles as he remembers some of that “exploration,” before rolling his eyes internally at how easy it is for Cas to read him, even without his angel mojo.  Is he really that obvious?

“You really are,” Chuck confirms aloud to Dean’s internal monologue.

“Dude,” Dean levels a glare at the denim-and-canvas-clad Creator, “reading people’s minds is rude.  Just because you _can_ , doesn’t mean you _should.”_

And ah yes, this feels more like Dean’s life again:  lecturing freaking _God_ on social niceties.

Chuck shrugs at Dean and returns to Cas’ earlier question, “I generally don’t listen to prayers anymore, can usually tune them out to the point that they’re just background noise, but a _Winchester_ thanking me for something was such a novelty, it caught my attention.”

Dean flushes as Cas asks, “ _Thanking_ you?  What would _Dean_ have to thank _you_ for?”

Chuck looks between Dean and Castiel before he answers, “You actually, Castiel.  Dean thanked me for you.”

Dean’s mortified, but the smile Cas turns on him is blinding.  It’s unfettered affection, adoration, and.. love.  Dean shrugs in response, but can’t help his own answering smile.  He’s a lucky man, but the question is, will he remain that way?

“Are you here to send us back?” He forces out the words.

“I am.”

“What if we don’t wanna go back?  What if we’re.. happy here?” He stumbles over the last two words, but meets Chuck’s eyes evenly.

“I’m sorry,” Chuck says softly, and he actually looks like he means it.  “Do you remember what I told you at our last meeting Dean?  I told you that the earth would be fine without me, because it had you and Sam.  Your world needs you, Dean.”  He looks around them and adds, “And the Cas and Dean of this world deserve to live their lives.”

“Are they in our world?” Cas questions and Chuck shakes his head.

“No.  A mechanic and a barista wouldn’t last very long in the lives of a hunter and a rebel angel,” he says wryly.  “They’ve been in.. a sort of suspended animation, but it’s time for them to come home now.  When I bring them home, I’ll reset time here and in your world to the moment that Amara pulled you out.”

“So none of it will have ever happened,” Cas says sadly.  Chuck doesn’t reply and that tells Dean that Cas has it right.

“Will we remember?” he asks brokenly, tightening his grip on Castiel’s hand.

“Do you want to?” Chuck asks shrewdly, seeming very interested in the answer.

“Yes,” answers Cas immediately, at the same time that Dean says, “Every minute.”

The husbands look at one another and smile.

“Then I don’t see why not.”  Chuck shrugs then, claps his hands, “All right, I think it’s time to get this show on the road, but first..”  He moves to stand in front of Cas, who still doesn’t let go of Dean’s hand, for which Dean is immensely grateful.  He still doesn’t trust Chuck and he knows that holding onto Cas isn’t going to stop _God_ from wiping their memories and sending them back to just being angel and hunter again if he so chooses, but the solid feeling of Cas’ hand in his is comforting nonetheless.

“Castiel,” Chuck says, eyes soft and serious, “I know you’ve wanted to talk to me for some time now.  I apologize for avoiding you, but I knew that I had no words you would want to hear from me.  I am everything you think me.  I failed you, abandoned you, sacrificed you.. and yet you remained my most loyal and devoted child.” 

Cas looks like he’s about to argue that point, but Chuck shakes his head, “You’ve stumbled, it’s true, but you’ve never given up and in the end, you found your way back.  I’m _proud_ of you Castiel.”  He pauses, holding Castiel’s eyes.

“I made man in my image,” Chuck says quietly, “but I sometimes wonder how different things might have been if I had made them in yours instead.”

Castiel’s eyes widen and for the first time since Dean’s known him, the angel appears speechless.

Chuck lifts his hand as a white light extends from it, wrapping itself around Castiel before seeming to sink into his skin.  Dean doesn’t have to ask to know that Chuck just restored Cas’ angel mojo.

Chuck steps back, “And now boys, I think it’s time to go home.”

Looking down at their clasped hands before bringing his pointed gaze back to their faces he adds, “You know, this is how it was always supposed to be, but I could never seem to get you there.  Maybe Amara knew what she was doing after all.” 

He shrugs again, “Just goes to show that they’re right.  You should never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

***

Dean stumbles as he feels that same, world tilting sensation he’d experienced those months ago when Amara had pulled him out of his world and dumped him in the world of Dean and Castiel Winchester.  Throwing out his arms blindly, his hand finds Cas’ arm next to him and they grip onto one another to right themselves. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean looks up to see the entrance to the bunker in front of him.  They’re back.  He feels a sudden and profound sense of _loss_.  His dad, his mom, Sam and Jess and their new baby:  he’ll never see any of them again.  He even feels a pang of regret for that ’67 Chevelle he’d just got in the shop.  He’ll never see how she turns out. 

Overwhelmed, Dean straightens and let’s go of Cas’ arm, stepping away from him.  Cas lets him go.  Inhaling shakily, Dean turns to look at the man (the _angel)_ who 5 minutes ago, was his husband.  Cas stands there, watching Dean carefully, arms hanging loosely at this sides.  They’re both wearing the clothes they were wearing that day 4 months ago when they had set out to defeat the Darkness:  Dean in his denim and hunter-plaid, Cas in that stupid-ass trench coat and striped tie.  Unbidden, Dean’s eyes drop to Cas’ left hand.  Their rings are gone, and with a shock that Dean feels like a punch to the gut, he realizes, so is Cas’ bracelet.  They aren’t married here.  They never were.

Turning back to the bunker to hide the sudden tears in his eyes, Dean walks toward the entrance.  Still lost in mourning for a world and a life that were never his, Dean doesn’t register the chaos inside the bunker until he hears Cas’ alarmed, “Dean!” next to him. 

Overturned chairs and lamps show clear signs of a struggle, and immediately on high alert, Dean retrieves a gun from one of his many hiding places, calling out, “Sam!  Sammy!” 

With no answer from Sam, he and Cas begin their search.

***

“Wow, Dean.  I still can’t believe you’re alive!”  an exhausted Sam leans against the war room table while Dean passes him a beer before handing another to Cas and taking a sip of his own.

“I really thought this was it,” Sam adds quietly.  In that way only he can do, Dean’s Gigantor of a baby brother manages to make his gargantuan frame look as small and frail as he did at 6-years-old and Dean wraps the taller man in a hug.

“I know, Sam.  Believe me, I thought I was a goner for real this time too.”  Clapping Sam firmly on the back, Dean’s hit with an overwhelming sense of _rightness_.  _This_ is his brother, _his_ Sam.  The Sammy who’s had Dean’s back their whole goddamn lives.  The brother he’s hunted with; fought with; grieved their mom, dad, and Bobby with.  The brother who would still be locked up in that goddamn basement, being tortured by that British bitch, if Dean weren’t here.  This is the Sam who gets Dean like no one else ever has.. well, with maybe one exception, Dean thinks, glancing at the angel across the table.

The grief Dean had felt when he first arrived back at the Bunker those days ago recedes.  _This_ is Dean’s world.  _This_ is where he belongs.  Here, in the bunker, with his brother and his angel.  He looks at Cas again, who’s sitting there pulling that same goddamn stoic act that’s worked on Dean exactly never.  His angel is troubled by something, but Dean’s not sure what.  With the last several days overshadowed by their frantic search for Sam, Dean feels like he’s barely even _seen_ Cas, let alone had time to actually talk to him.  Since Cas doesn’t need to sleep, he’d been looking for Sam around the clock, only popping back in at intervals to check-in with Dean and his research. 

It had been Cas who had eventually located the shithole that bitch Toni had Sam stashed in, but he couldn’t get in.  The British Men of Letters apparently knew the Winchesters were friends with an angel and the “Lady Bevel,” had warded her hideout accordingly.  Or maybe her even bitchier sidekick had.  Dean’s not even a little sorry Cas had angel bladed her ass.  That’s what she gets for hurting Baby.. and Sam, of course. 

Cas had used his newly restored angel mojo to zap Dean to the house where Sam was being held.  He’d busted in, guns blazing as usual, but that crafty BMOL bitch had got the drop on him.  If it weren’t for that asshole, (Rick, Mick, Dick?) showing up, Dean would have been an even bloodier mess than he already had been from Toni’s torture.  Fortunately, Cas had been able to easily heal Dean and Sam before mojo-ing them all back to the bunker. 

Now, of course, Sam has questions, but Dean’s not exactly sure how to answer them.

“And Cas,” Sam continues, pushing his shaggy hair behind his ears, “What happened to you, man?  How did you find Dean?  And how did your grace get restored?  Did Amara do that too?”

Dean had already given Sam a brief run-down of his heart-to-heart with God’s scary-as-fuck kid sister, but he’d conveniently left out the part where he and Cas had spent 4 months playing house in a world where their parents and friends were all alive and where Sam was readying himself for fatherhood instead of being tortured in a basement by a couple of psycho bitches.  How the hell was Dean supposed to tell him all that?

Cas looked at Dean before answering Sam carefully, “Actually, it was Chuck who restored my grace.”

“And Dean?” Sam hesitates, before adding, “When you disappeared after.. after the sun came back, I thought maybe you just wanted to be alone.”  The unspoken, “to mourn,” echoes loudly in the room.

With an apologetic expression, Cas hurries to explain, “Sam, I’m sorry for my disappearance.  If it had been in my power to remain with you, I would have.  I would never leave you alone so soon after losing your brother.  You’re my friend, my _family_ , with Dean’s presence or without.”

Sam smiles at Cas briefly before adopting his best what-aren’t-you-telling-me bitchface (No. 9) and asking again, “So if it wasn’t ‘in-your-power’ where did you go?”

“Sammy,” Dean interrupts quickly, “I know you’ve got questions, man, and you deserve answers, but would you mind if we do this tomorrow?  It’s been a long few days and I’m beat.”

Sam looks like he’s going to argue for a moment, his there’s-no-way-you’re-getting-out-of-this-conversation bitchface (12), ready to go, but then a yawn forces its way out of his mouth and he concedes with a grimace.

“Sure, Dean,” he sighs, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Grateful for the reprieve, he and Cas follow Sam down the hall toward the bunker’s bedrooms.  Dean can’t wait to be alone with the angel.  It’s been a very long, very exhausting couple of days and Dean needs his angel like Sam’s flowing locks need Vidal Sassoon.  However, once they reach the door to Dean’s room, Cas surprises him.

He pauses by Dean’s bedroom door, casting it a sad glance before murmuring a quiet, “Goodnight Dean,” and turning to move on down the hallway.  Incredulous, Dean stops him with a hand on his arm.

“What?  So that’s it?” he asks, not bothering to hide the hurt in his voice.  “We’re back for 5 minutes and it’s back to Dean the Lonely Hunter and his Sidekick Angel? I thought..” The hurt in his voice deepens into anger, “You know what?  Never mind what I thought.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Dean,” Cas says, bringing his own arm up to block Dean’s retreat as he tries to turn toward the door to a room that once felt like the closest thing he had to a home (outside of Baby, of course), but now just feels empty.  “Of course it matters.  We were.. different, in that other world.  We were _that_ Dean and Cas.  I wasn’t sure if you would want to continue what we had there, now that we’re.. home.” 

The word “home” sounds hollow and Cas must feel it too, grimacing at the term before continuing, “I had hoped.. but I didn’t want to presume.”

“Well fucking _presume_ , Castiel,” Dean says in frustration.  “I know I’ve been a little distant the past few days with the whole ‘Sam is missing’ thing, but I thought you understood.”

“I did,” Cas assures him hurriedly, before looking away, “it wasn’t that.”

“Well, then what the hell did I manage to do in the last 2 hours that made you think I wanted things to go back to the way they were between us?”

Cas visibly hesitates and Dean raises his eyebrows in pointed expectation.

“A little while ago, when Sam asked,” he stumbles over his words a moment before settling on, “you didn’t tell him about us.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face.

“Of course,” Cas says quickly, “I understand if you don’t want Sam to know.. to know about us.”  He stammers on, “We can be discrete.  I can keep the ‘PDA’ to a minimum and we don’t need to tell anyone.  It will be enough that _we_ know.  Dean, I just want to be with you.  I don’t care what that looks like,” he finishes quickly, as if he might choke on the words otherwise. 

 _Doesn’t care what that looks like._   Right.

Cas looks at him desperately and the last of Dean’s ire melts away.  He keeps his expression neutral though.  They have a shot here, a chance to do this right, and for once in his goddamn life, Dean’s not gonna fuck it up.  He realizes something now that they’re back here.  There’s always going to be _something_ getting in the way:  the Apocalypse, the Mark, the Darkness, the fucking British Men of Letters.  If he wants to be with Cas, if _they_ want to be _together_ , they’re going to have find a way to do it around all of that shit.  _This_ is their chance, not Amara’s perfect world.  Dean doesn’t need a world without the supernatural to be with Cas.  _He just needs Cas_.

“So that’s okay with you?” he asks.  “You can spend half the night in my bed, then sneak back to your own room before morning so Sam doesn’t catch us?  We can spend our days tiptoeing around one another, constantly second-guessing every look, every hand on the shoulder or pat on the back, wondering if it lasted too long, if it’s gonna give us away?”

Cas looks absolutely miserable at the prospect, but Dean’s far from done.  Cas needs to understand.  If they’re gonna do this, _everything_ has to change.

“What about the other stuff?”  He pushes on, “Are you gonna go back to punishing yourself for every goddamn thing that happens, whether it’s your fault or not?  You know what, yeah, you do that.  And I can go back to watching to you walk away from me, _time after fucking time._ Except now, instead of just doubting your place in this _family_ , you can doubt our goddamn _relationship_ too.”

Eyes wide and shocked, Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but Dean talks over him, “And what about me, huh?  Should I pretend I don’t have anything worth hanging around here for and go back to jumping in front of every goddamn bullet, spell, and supernatural fuck-all aimed at any one of us?”

“No!” Castiel says urgently, but Dean’s _still_ not finished.

“That’s just it Cas.  It can’t be like that.  Not if _this_ ,” he gestures between himself and angel, “has any chance of working.  We can’t be the self-flagellating angel and self-sacrificing hunter anymore.”

Dean gentles his voice and dips his head to lock eyes with Cas, “When Amara sent us to that other world, she told me she was giving me what I needed most.  At the time, I thought that meant there was something in that world I needed, but I was wrong.  It was never about that.  It was about the one person she sent there with me:  you, Cas.  She could have just sent me, you know.  Sent me to that world, to that Dean’s Cas, but she didn’t.  She didn’t, because that’s not the Castiel I need.  You are.  You’re the Castiel I want, the one I love, and apparently, the one I need.  You, with your freaky angel mojo, and your stupid flasher trench coat, and your backwards tie.  It’s always been like that Cas, but here, there’s always been something in the way, you know?  Something that made it seem impossible.  So Amara sent us someplace where it _was_ possible.  A world with no supernatural:  no monsters to kill, no demons or angels to battle, no fucking Apocalypse to avert.”

Cas’ eyes are shining now and he look so fucking _hopeful_ , it makes Dean’s chest ache.

“We weren’t _that_ Dean and Cas’ in that other world.  We were _us_ and I have to believe that we can be that here too.  We were together and we were happy and I’m fucking keeping it.  For once in his goddamn life, Dean Winchester is going to take something for himself.”

Dean turns his head slightly and raises his voice to yell down the long hall, “Hey Sammy!”

“What?” comes Sam’s shouted reply a moment later.

“Me and Cas.. we’re together.  So, yeah, I just wanted you to know.. that.”  Dean finishes lamely, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.  He said he was gonna get this right.  He didn’t say he’d be _good_ at it.

“Like, _together,_ together?” asks Sam.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns more fully to face the direction of Sam’s voice, “Yes, Samantha the Teenage Bitch.  _Together,_ together.  And in case you’re wondering, I _like,_ like him too.”

“Yeah, _that_ part I knew,” Sam answers and Dean can fucking _hear_ the smirk.

“But, together?  When?  How?” Sam falters.

“ _That part I knew,”_ Dean mimics quietly before raising his voice, “Well you see Sammy, when a man and a man, or a hunter and an angel, fall in..”

“NO!  Stop!  I withdraw the question!” yells Sam.  “I’m going into my room now and I’m going to shut the door and listen to music.  Loudly!”

A door slams down the hall and Dean snickers, turning back to Cas with a triumphant smirk.

Or at least, that’s what he would be doing, if his arms weren’t suddenly full of six feet of desperate angel, kissing Dean like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, or care to do for that matter.  Dean kisses back, just as desperate, and fumbles for the doorknob behind him.  When he manages to turn the knob, several long, hungry kisses later, the door falls away and they stumble into the darkened room.  Dean manages to flip on the light switch by the door before Cas is shoving him in the direction of the bed, attempting to undress Dean as they go.  He pushes Dean’s coat off his shoulders before untucking the hunter’s t-shirt from his jeans and moving his fingers to undo the buttons of Dean’s flannel, without ever pausing his assault on Dean’s mouth.  On the second button, Cas huffs in frustration and pulls back, glaring at the flannel like it’s personally offended him.

“I liked it better when you wore fewer layers,” Cas grouses.

“What,” Dean counters, “I tell you I love your stupid trench coat and you’re gonna give me shit for my hunter clothes?  Is the romance dead already?”

Cas’ glare moves from Dean’s flannel to his face and he cocks his head before a feral smirk spreads across his face.  Dean only has a moment to be nervous (and impossibly turned on, because _fuck_ is that good look on his angel), before he finds himself naked and laid out on his bed, Cas moving toward him predatorily. 

“Much better,” Cas says, giving Dean’s body an approving once over.

“Well that’s a neat party trick,” Dean answers, breathless, his already prominent erection growing larger as Cas stalks across the room, slowly pulling off that goddamn blue tie and shedding the rest of his clothing as he goes.

“ _Fuck!_ We need to send Amara a fruit basket,” Dean pants as Cas’ white dress shirt falls to the floor.

“Can you send a cosmic entity of chaos and destruction a fruit basket?”  He babbles on, as Cas slowly strips off his white undershirt, exposing those chiseled abs and dusky nipples Dean needs to get his hands and mouth on, _right the fuck now, please._

“What _do_ you get for the girl who kills everything?”  Dean asks desperately, as Cas’ slacks and boxers hit the floor.  Cas strokes a hand along his hard, erect cock and Dean’s practically drooling, his eyes tracking the movement.

Cas smirks and stretches out his left hand, palm up, his right still working his cock.  A bottle of lube appears in the angel’s outstretched hand and his long fingers close around it.  Dean’s jaw drops open.

“And Chuck,” he swallows, “Remind me to thank Chuck for recharging your angel mojo, because that is just, _awesome!”_

“Dean, stop talking.”  Dean’s jaw clicks shut.

“Mine,” Cas says possessively, darkening eyes moving from Dean’s flushed face, down his chest and stomach, to his already leaking cock.

“Yours,” Dean answers hoarsely.

Suddenly, Cas is on him, pressing Dean down into the mattress and kissing him within an inch of his life.  Cas’ tongue plunders Dean’s mouth for a long moment, before he pulls back just far enough to growl, “All mine.  Always.  My hunter.  My Dean,” hot and wet against Dean’s kiss swollen lips.

Dean nods frantically as Cas reclaims his mouth.  He hears the snick of the lube cap and then feels cool, slick fingers at his entrance.  Cas doesn’t tease.  He presses a finger into Dean, pushing in to the first knuckle.  Dean groans at the welcome intrusion and spreads his legs wider to give Cas more access. 

Still pumping in and out of Dean’s hole with his right hand, Cas twines the fingers of his left hand with Dean’s, leaning back slightly to look down and their joined hands.

“I miss my ring,” Cas intones.

“We’ll get you a new one,” Dean promises, voice high and breathy.

“I miss my ring on you too,” Cas adds petulantly.

“We’ll get me one too,” Dean agrees quickly, groaning as Cas works a second finger inside and begins scissoring his fingers, opening Dean up for his cock.

Cas lets go of Dean’s hand and grips his hair instead, tugging Dean’s head back to expose his neck.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine Dean,” he says brokenly, clearly as affected as Dean is, before biting a mark into the hunter’s neck.

“I’ll take an add out in the paper,” Dean supplies, ready to agree to anything Cas says if the man will just _fuck him already._ Instead, Cas adds a third finger and Dean begins rocking himself down against the angel’s hand.

“Mine.  Only mine.  Always mine,” Cas repeats, punctuating each sentence with a thrust of his fingers.

“Christ!  I’ll put it on a goddamn billboard,” Dean sobs out, “Now will you get on with it and _fuck me already,_ Castiel!”

Instead of answering, Cas changes the angle of his fingers and nails Dean’s prostate on the next thrust, punching a shout out of the man.

“Fuck! Cas!”

Cas continues to finger-fuck Dean, grinding into his prostate with each thrust.

“Goddamn it, Cas, you sunovabitch!” Dean shouts.  “Fuck me, please Cas, just fuck! Fucking fuck me. Please baby.  _Please!”_ Dean wails, nearly incoherent with need.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Cas smirks, finally withdrawing his fingers from Dean, and who the fuck taught his angel sarcasm anyway?

Dean only has a moment to miss the fullness of Cas’ fingers inside him before he feels Cas pressing into him, the hard heat of his cock filling Dean up better than his fingers ever could.

Cas sets a punishing pace from the onset:  brutal, claiming, and goddamn perfect.  Dean moans and presses back against each thrust.  Suddenly, Cas pauses and hoists Dean’s legs up, wrapping them around his waist before he leans over Dean and fucks into him with a renewed ferocity. 

The new position has him nailing Dean’s prostate with each driving thrust and Dean begins spouting an endless litany of “There, right there.  Fuck, Cas!  Don’t stop!” as Cas’ thrusts become more frantic, his eyes locking with Dean’s and glowing electric blue as he brings one hand up to begin stripping Dean’s cock furiously.

“Cas!” Dean sobs, “So close!  I’m gonna..”

“Come for me, Dean.  Come for me now,” Cas pants and Dean couldn’t disobey if he tried.  He comes in hot, wet stripes across his belly.  Several hard thrusts later, Cas follows, body shuddering and locking up above Dean for a moment, jaw slack and eyes unseeing as he fills Dean.

Spent, Cas curls himself over top of Dean, taking deep, shuddering breaths as they both try to recover.  Dean lifts his head slightly to plant a kiss on his angel’s sweaty forehead.  Cas rewards him with a tired smile before sliding off of Dean and wrapping himself around the hunter tightly:  head on Dean’s shoulder, left arm over Dean’s chest, left leg tucked securely between the human’s. 

Looking down at Cas and seeing the quickly cooling pool of semen on his stomach (not to mention feeling Cas’ load slowly leaking out of his ass), Dean makes a face.  “We should probably clean up,” he says tiredly, but doesn’t move.  He’s not really sure he can, to be honest.

Cas blinks down at the mess and shrugs.  A moment later, the cooling come is gone from Dean’s skin, as is the come in.. other places.  Dean chuckles.

“I can’t believe I never thought of all the sexy uses for angel mojo.”

“Don’t worry,” Cas promises, “I have a list.”

Dean gives the multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent currently cuddling him like an octopus on ecstasy a squeeze and says, teasingly, “A little possessive there, weren’t you, Angel?”

At this, Castiel pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow to give Dean a confused look.

“Dean, I claimed your soul in front of my garrison and all of Hell.  I seared my hand print into your very soul and then made sure to leave a visible scar when I rebuilt you from your DNA up, so that every being who laid eyes upon you, be they angel, demon, monster, or human, would see my mark.  Yes, you could say that I’m, ‘possessive.’”

Dean stares, open-mouthed.

“I fucking _knew_ that was intentional,” he says after a moment.

Cas just smirks and lays his head back down on Dean’s shoulder.

“Smug, possessive bastard,” Dean grumbles affectionately as he drifts off to sleep in his angel’s arms, mind at peace for a change.  For once, Dean isn't waiting for the other shoe to drop.  The thing is, he  _knows_ it's going to drop:  sooner or later some new monster or demon or other supernatural baddy is going to show up and want a piece of him and Dean just knows those BMOL assholes are gonna need to be dealt with, but he also knows they'll handle it.  Him, and Cas, and Sam.

_This Dean can._

This Dean has what he needs most.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. What did you think?
> 
> And oh, if anyone is feeling bad about Sam getting cheated out of his alter ego's future with Jess and their baby, don't worry. Without Mary around, Sam and Dean never worked with the BMOL, instead treating them as the threat they really were for the entire time. This antagonistic reaction moved up the BMOL's hunter extermination plan, which means the scene with Dagon and the colt didn't happen, Eileen never killed Renny, and therefore wasn't at the top of BMOL's hit list. Instead, she's one of the hunters Sam and Dean gather for their assault on the BMOL compound, which is where she and Sam reconnect after they take out BMOL and continue the hunt for Dagon and Kelly Kline.
> 
> Now, for the epilogue, is anyone else curious about the other Dean and Cas?


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, but hopefully enjoyable peek at the "other" Dean and Cas.. and also a surprise guest narrator!
> 
> Enjoy!

At the beginning of everything, he’d essentially locked his kid sister out of his bedroom.  Now, a few billion years later, the door’s been open for 5 minutes and she’s already messing with his stuff, just like he always knew she would.  Chuck takes a moment to feel childishly vindicated before heaving a sigh at the swirling gray mist surrounding him.  His sister seriously lacks imagination.

With a snap of his fingers, the gray fog dissolves into a familiar bar.  Chuck casts an appreciative glance at the warm brick walls hung with posters and the wooden booths inlaid with cheap red vinyl and inhales deeply.  Better. 

His focus drifts to his favorite booth, where two figures that were previously suspended, nude, in the swirling mist, are now slumped over the table, looking as if they’ve maybe taken an impromptu rest there after one too many shots.  Both figures are clad in simple black t-shirts and well-fitted jeans, with the taller of the two folded over the tabletop and pressed against the wall, his high cheekbones and pouty pink lips resting on the back of his hand.  Leaning heavily against him is a slightly shorter man with a head of dark, untamed hair and a countenance perhaps as calm and untroubled as Chuck has ever seen it.  He gazes upon them with the fond expression worn by millennia of human parents as they watch their sleeping toddlers, the chaos and destruction of their waking selves seemingly pushed to the edges of memory in light of their deceptively peaceful slumber.

They look so sweet when they’re sleeping.

It’s almost a shame to wake them, but needs must.  With another snap of his fingers, the figures begin to stir and Chuck calls out merrily, “Wakey, wakey,” adopting his patented nervous smile.

Both men take a moment to gather their bearings, then, suddenly realizing they aren’t in their own bed, start and leap from the booth.  Casting panicked glances around them, they finally spot Chuck where he stands about 10 feet away, rocking forward and backward on the balls of his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Hey there, fellas.”

“Who the hell are you?” asks Dean roughly, “And where the fuck are we?”

Castiel doesn’t speak, but he moves to place a protective hand in the center of Dean’s back, silently extending his support to his husband.

“I’m Chuck,” Chuck answers simply, then expands, “although you might know me better as God, or Father, or the Creator.”  Dean and Castiel stare.

“And you’re in a bar,” he adds helpfully.

“The Creator,” Dean stresses the title skeptically, “is called _Chuck?”_

Dean Winchester, cutting through the bullshit to ask the important questions, as usual.  Why waste words on trivial entreaties about how this can’t possibly be real, when one can express the same sentiment in less than half the words with a disbelieving eyebrow raise and a double dose of sarcasm.  It’s a quality that Chuck has always admired in the Dean Winchesters of any world.

Allowing his presence to expand beyond the limits of his seemingly human body and his voice to do that _thing_ where it rattles human bones and feels like it’s coming at a person from all directions, including their insides, Chuck elaborates, “Humankind have given me many names.  I am known by a thousand titles, in as many worlds and more.”

Once again compressing his infinite existence into 5’8” of human flesh, blood, and experience, he finishes, “But I like Chuck.”

Shrugging at Dean and Castiel’s shell-shocked faces, he adds, “It’s the only name I’ve ever chosen for myself, you know?  And I think there’s a unique kind of power in a name one chooses for oneself.  Ooh, that’s good, I should write that down.”

He pats the pockets of his jeans and jacket before coming up with a pen and looking around to spot a bar napkin on a nearby table.  He moves over to the table and jots down his note, before tucking the pen and folded napkin into the pocket of his favorite green jacket.  Deciding Dean and Castiel have had a long enough moment to adjust, he continues their conversation. 

“Sorry I’m not taller,” he says conversationally to Dean, before turning conspiratorially to Castiel, “I’ve been told people expect me to be taller.”  He suppresses a grin at the man’s confounded expression.  He probably shouldn’t fuck with them like this, but even all-knowing and immortal deities have to entertain themselves somehow, and he promised he wouldn’t do that flood thing again.

“You seem.. familiar,” Castiel admits, finally joining the conversation.

Chuck smiles indulgently, “I suppose I would, to you, Castiel,” he comments mildly, before explaining, “In most worlds, you’re not a man, but an angel.  Although you lack that connection to the Host of Heaven here, there’s an.. echo of a sort, that your innermost being responds to.”

Dean snorts, “An angel?  Clearly, _the Host_ don’t know that story about you and the Jorgenson twins back in college.”  Ah, the ever-adaptable Dean Winchester.  When one doesn’t know what to do with a situation, it’s best to just ignore it and cover one’s discomfort with an inappropriate joke.

Castiel glances between Chuck and Dean, scouring his husband with a glare that’s half-smiting, half-smirking, “No one knows that story.”

He shouldn’t.. but borderline omnipotence isn’t really good for teaching one self-denial or self-restraint, so..

“I know that story,” Chuck supplies, bouncing up on his toes, “She really was _bendy_ wasn’t she?  And him, well, I created all 8 muscles in the human tongue and know every possible configuration and contortion, but even I never imagined it doing _that_.”

Castiel looks mildly horrified and Dean belts out a stunned, “Dude!”

Chuck shrugs, “Omniscience.  It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Bravely deciding to move the conversation along, Castiel asks, “Why exactly, if you don’t mind my asking, is the Almighty talking to a couple of guys from Lawrence, Kansas _.._ in a bar?”

“Oh, yes, that!” Chuck beams, “Well, my sister sort of borrowed your lives in Lawrence for a little while for the Castiel and Dean of a different world.  You’ve been hanging out in a type of suspended animation for the past few months and I just needed to wake you up and make sure everything is in proper working order before sending you home.”

At their horrified expressions he adds, “It is by the way.  In working order.”

“Well, that makes it okay then,” Dean says scathingly as Castiel’s mouth falls open.

“ _Borrowed_ our lives?” the not-angel asks, but Dean cuts in.

“Wait, you said _months?_   Baby!  Did Imposter-Dean touch my Impala?”  Dean doesn’t seem to realize he’s waving a finger accusingly at an infinite and all-powerful being, but Castiel, ever the more sensible of the two, drags his hand down with a roll of his eyes.

“Relax, Dean.  I’m sure the Impala is fine.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asks petulantly.

“Because, if there is one thing I’m certain about, it’s that the Dean Winchester of any universe would never let anything untoward happen to that Impala.  If an echo of my ‘angelness’ from another world can reach me here, I have no doubt that your unhealthy attachment to your car is strong enough to achieve the same.”

Dean looks to Chuck hopefully, who shrugs.

“He’s not wrong.”

Placated, Dean returns to less pressing matters, “So what was so important that your _sister_ , and we should come back to the fact that God-has-a-freaking-sister in a minute, had to hijack our lives for these two losers from another world?  And who are they anyway?”  He pauses, then his face lights up as he continues eagerly, “Wait, are they evil Cas and Dean?  Do they have goatees?  Are they from some evil mirror universe?”

Amused, Chuck responds, “No facial hair, I’m afraid, and they’re every bit as pleasant as you are.”  Dean scowls and Chuck smirks, “Not that that’s saying much.  They’re actually quite a bit like you, with a couple of glaring differences, one being the angel thing I mentioned earlier.”  He nods to Castiel.

“Amara, my sister, felt they needed a world where Dean could find ‘what he needed most.’”

Castiel gapes at him disbelievingly, “And ‘what he needed most,’ was in the world of a mechanic and an accountant-turned-barista?”

“I’m a ‘restoration specialist,’” Dean grumbles as Chuck replies, “No, actually.  It turned out that Dean had what he needed most all along.”

“So, the Wizard of Oz,” Dean says flatly.  “You stole our lives to create some crappy, technicolor Dorothy-and-Friends reboot?  Please tell me there wasn’t singing.”

Chuck sighs.  He should have stuck to writing.  Ink and paper characters never berate you like this from the page.  This is why he gave up direct intervention in the first place.  No appreciation.

“ _Borrowed_ ,” he stresses.  “And now it’s time to send you back.  No harm, no foul.”

“Why now?” asks Castiel shrewdly.

“Honestly,” says Chuck, “I was inclined to let it go on for a little longer.  They just looked so happy down there, but I thought I should probably intervene when I overheard them discussing whether or not the two of you were ready for children.”  That’ll teach them to be ungrateful.

“Kids?” squeaks Dean as Castiel’s face pales.

“We were thinking about maybe getting a cat or something,” Castiel offers in a strangled voice.

Smiling as the husbands exchange slightly traumatized looks, Chucks snaps his fingers again and finds himself alone in the bar.

He definitely should have stuck to writing, but the more direct route does have its moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, that's it!
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you're a first time reader and would like to see more from me, feel free to check out my other works! I also plan to post a new, short (very short, around 7,000 words) fic next week that is pretty much just a pile of squishy, domestic Destiel AU fluff!
> 
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> 
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